Lined with Silver
by moon's the limit
Summary: Arthur moved from the big city of Chicago to the small town of Limbo. And if switching private schools to public schools didn't cut it, then being dragged into a messed up fairy tale did.
1. Chapter 1

**Title;** Lined with Silver**  
Warning;** alternate universe, supernatural, teen & cocky! Arthur**  
Summary;** Arthur moves from the big city of Chicago to the small town of Limbo. Everything in the town is to his liking— well, everything except for the full-body mirror, that contains a British man with ridiculous fashion sense, in his new bedroom.  
**Disclaimer;** if only, ohoho ~  
**Author's Notes;** So I discovered that I don't add enough description in my stories; here, I tried to add more, as you can see from the length. I hope I didn't add _too_ much, though. I didn't want to bore you guys. :C Other than that! This will be my new project next to a few other E/A fics. I'm hoping to have next chapter out in a week ~. Reviews and constructive criticism are loved. Annnd if any of you are willing to beta, message me! Uhm ... that's it, I think. Hope you enjoyyy ~

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The one thing Arthur hated about moving was that he would need to rearrange his possessions to fit his new room. All the button ups, all the dress pants, all the books, all the other things necessary to his room— all of it would certainly take him day and night to complete sorting, or so it seemed.

But Arthur wasn't one to complain; he had nothing better to do at this moment, which was surprising considering that most eighteen years olds would be out and about, partying and doing things that weren't quite legal. Arthur was far from that, actually. He despised any sort of parties, especially the ones that would blast music at two in the morning (his previous neighbor was a prime example of this sort of partying). And above all, Arthur was a rule follower. He would shut himself off from the profanity and cheat sheets. It wasn't as if he needed either anyways; his cold glare alone was enough to be categorized as 'going off' on someone, and the tests he took were all easy.

Needless to say, Arthur was a perfectionist, and he had no problem with being called or teased for that manner. What was the problem was only temporarily, and that was how he was going to set up his bedroom. Compared to the rooms he had resided in previously, his room was rather large, but it was no larger than the master bedroom itself.

Arthur enjoyed the capacity he was given, but it was almost as if it was _too_ much. There were large spaces between the bed and his dresser, his dresser and his desk, his desk and the door to the full bathroom, and the bath to a full-body mirror.

Arthur frowned, but it wasn't from the fact that his new room was spacious; it was because there was a full-length mirror sitting at the corner of his room, on the right side of his bed, its glass dusty, which gave him the conclusion that no one had touched it in a bit of time. Why it was still there, sitting out in the open and not cleared along with the rest of the previous owner's possessions, was a mystery to him.

Deciding that it was best to ignore it now and have his father move it when he finished unpacking, Arthur turned towards the boxes stacked around. In total, there were seven; two full of his books, three full of his clothes, and two filled with other items necessary to his room.

He targeted his clothes first, since the very idea of having his pressed, nice button-ups and dress pants folded up was absolutely horrible. Even the sight of it when he opened the box made the corner of his mouth twitch. Thus why Arthur was moving quickly as he removed the clothes from the box to the hangers on the closet.

It was a good thirty minutes later that he had successfully hung up and ordered all his shirts by color and style. The pants proved to be easier, seeing that they were much faster in terms of hanging up.

An hour proceeding the opening of the first box, Arthur found himself standing at the foot of his walk in closet, his arms folded across his chest, his lips pressed into a thin line. The entire appearance of how his closet was organized bothered him. It didn't have the same feel as it did back at his old house.

Nevertheless, he huffed, turned, and started opening the boxes that contained his books. He figured the entire emotion of his closet would warm up to him once he actually got use of it; there was really no point, after all, to rearrange everything.

The books that weighed in his hands were heavy as he shifted over to his dresser and pulled one of the drawers open. Considering that a desk wasn't built into his new room yet, Arthur figured that it was suitable to stick his books, spine up, in his drawer. After all, it wasn't like he was going to use the drawers when every piece of clothing was in the closet. As he set the books down, he thanked God that he was the one that packed for himself; else, he wouldn't have all the books in order by the author's last name, which of course, would make him a very irritated teenager.

The time neared noon when he finished clearing out the boxes. And still, the room he was residing in felt spacious. No matter the calendar he put up, the alarm clock and lamp decorating the nightstand beside his queen-sized bed, the triple layers of blankets smoothed over said bed, and the pillowcases pulled over the pillows, the place still didn't have a home feeling to it.

Arthur blamed the dusty, oval shaped, full-body mirror lined with a silver frame that sat at the side of his room. But of course, it was childish of him to even blame an unanimated object, so he just blamed the architects of this particular house. And with that, he dismissed himself from the atmosphere of what he called his room and made his way down the stairs.

Even though nearly three hours had passed since their arrival, the men hired to help set up the technology, electricity, and other necessity still lingered around. Arthur frowned at the sight of them, but dared not to complain; without them, he wouldn't have access to any electronics or air conditioning system. And to put it quite bluntly, the summer temperatures were getting to him. This explained why he was flanked in a t-shirt and shorts rather than his usual wear of button-ups and dress pants.

His father wasn't in similar conditions. Unlike the suits he wore daily, no matter the occasion, his father was dressed in a light blue button-up, his sleeves rolled up, and dark slacks. Comparing his outfit to his father's, Arthur dawned down upon the fact that he looked rather foolish. He wanted nothing more than to bolt up the stairs and change, but unfortunately, his father caught him before he could make his escape. Much to his luck, though, his father didn't even bother to make a comment about the clothes he wore, which were courtesy of his aunt's gift from a good year or two ago. He was inwardly glad for her, and also for his father for not asking why he was wearing the outrageous clothing.

What his father did ask, though, was if he was finished unpacking. Proud that he did, Arthur gave a curt nod. His father grunted in response before turning back to the two workers that had their hands on their flat-screen television. "What do you think of this position, Arthur?" his father asked, nodding once at what he was looking at.

Arthur examined the way the electronic device was settled. It looked fine to him. Yet, before he could voice his opinion, his father already commanded the hired workers to shift it to the left slightly.

"No, your left, not mine."

The teenage male rolled his eyes at the workers' stupidity, but spoke nothing of it. Instead, he merely bid his father a goodbye before heading off to find his mother.

She was surrounded by boxes filled with dresses, shirts, and other sorts of clothing by time Arthur reached the master bedroom, which, he might add, was nearly twice the side of his bedroom and painted a brilliant shade of gold. Compared to his pale gray walls, Arthur much preferred this particular room; it, unlike his own, had a welcoming feeling to it. But, like before, he wasn't about to complain and give his mother or father a reason to spend a few more bucks so that painters could come in and paint his walls a different color.

Pushing the thoughts aside, Arthur greeted his mother, who returned the favor and added a small smile to it. To that, he merely turned his gaze to inspect the room while hating the fact that he was always awkward around his own mother. It wasn't as if he didn't like her, least, enjoy her company; it was because he never actually grew close to her. It was always between him and his father in just about anything. The only time he contributed to his mother was when she started the conversations (which would end rather quickly and equally awkwardly) or when she asked him questions (to which he would answer immediately and have their discussion end there). And truthfully, Arthur tried; he tried, at the very least, to hold a suitable conversation with his mother on any topic possible, but none of his attempts passed five minutes of talk since both of them would fall silent. Here, the situation was the same as before.

"Do you need help with anything?"

"No, it's quite alright. Have you finished unpacking?" A warm smile tinted her lips as she paused at her unpacking and turned her attention to him.

Arthur nodded slowly. "Yes, I have. And—" he cleared his throat in a pitiful attempt to disturb the awkward atmosphere. It didn't work, but he continued, nonetheless. "Are you sure you don't need—? I can help with father's —"

She shook her head. "No, it's alright. Least you can do is drive around the town and see everything it offers?"

Arthur was rather unsure if the suggestion alone was a simple suggestion or a means of trying to get him out of the room. Whichever it was, he took the idea under his wing.

After nodding once to his mother to acknowledge her suggestion, he retreated from the master bedroom and headed back to his own. Luckily, he left his car keys and wallet on the nightstand, so it was easy to sweep up. Though, as he turned back to head out, his eyes caught onto a flash of movement. His primary reaction was his breath catching in his throat, yet, passing it off as nothing, he regained his even breathing.

When he had settled his pounding heart, his eyes skimmed the room. There wasn't a way that he imagined movement, unless the condition of the room itself was getting to him. His brows furrowed ever so slightly as he slowly peered around once more.

On the second time around, he caught sight of a change: on the dusty mirror were what appeared to be letters. A frown tinted his lips as his eyes narrowed on the mirror. From where he stood, he could see that the letters were backwards, as if someone had written on the other side of the mirror. Even though they were inverse, Arthur could clearly make out four words: _don't be frightened, darling_.

His reaction was uncaring. Rolling his eyes and passing it off as one of the worker's jokes, Arthur moved out of his room, keys and wallet in his right hand. After a quick comment to his father informing him of where he was going and about a worker venturing into his room, Arthur picked up his cellphone from where it sat charging with two others (his mother's and father's), and made his way to his vehicle.

The sight of his silver BMW that was given to him for his sixteenth birthday last year gave him a relieved feeling every time he set his eyes on it. Arthur wasn't sure why it gave him the particular emotion, but he simply passed it off as the feeling of being free. Behind the wheel, being able to control the automobile— he found it as a way to finally relax and breathe. Not to mention, the ride around the town was soothing as well.

Unlike Chicago, there wasn't any sort of disturbance in the streets anywhere. In fact, the town was far from something like that. At this time, a few people strolled around, probably enjoying their last few days of summer. A handful lounged outside on their porch, waving to the pedestrians as they passed. Overall, the whole town set a friendly atmosphere, much to Arthur's liking. He always preferred the peace and quiet rather the loud and rowdy. Thus why this town proved to be better than the city he once resided in. For once, he was glad that his mother's choice overrode his father's, even though that would mean that he had to attend a public school.

At that thought, a soft frown dawned on the corners of his lips. He had been enrolled in private schools for most of his life, so the thought of not wearing uniforms made him cringe. He had never ventured into a public school building before either, but from the talks of it, he assumed that they were nothing but dirty, like most buildings.

The buildings that passed by during his joyride contradicted that. Some were old fashioned, but none appeared to have any sort of spray paint on them like what he usually saw back in the city. But still, that didn't mean the people in it weren't the same. At the moment, he can only hope that everyone was suitable. So far, they were fair, seeing from those before, but that was nothing considering that the whole crowd wasn't full of teenagers.

The corner of his mouth twitched at the thought of the population with teenagers alone. They were wild, most of them, at the very least, and growing up in a rich and formal family, Arthur was one of the handfuls that minded the rules.

Although, he almost ran the stop sign. _Almost_.

Luckily, he eased on the brake before continuing on as if nothing happened. His thoughts, though, changed from the topic of teenagers to the school he was pulling up to.

Limbo High School wasn't large compared to his private school, but Arthur could only imagine it was because of the population of the town itself. There weren't many people according to the information he had found on the particular area. Other than that, the building looked plain, which was not worth checking out. Pulling out of the lot, he continued down the road, his chocolate brown eyes surveying the area for a place of interest.

He came across a tidy, fair, and nicely decorated cafe. Seeing that this was the most impressive place he crossed paths with within the town, Arthur pulled into a lot and made his way over to the small cafe. The smell of coffee and other bakery items lingered in the air and greeted him the moment he strolled into the place. He glanced around; the walls were painted a warm shade of brown, matching to the tables, flooring, counter, and other accessories around. There were only a few people loitered around. A man in his older years sat in a corner, a cup of coffee in front of him, newspaper masking his face. To his left was a young couple, quietly speaking with each other and laughing occasionally. Across the room was a woman decked out in a business outfit; she dabbed her lips with a napkin for a split second before resuming her scribbling. Then, there was a table of three teenagers looking no older than fourteen; and even they were adding to the warm atmosphere.

Aside from the customers, a lone figure stood behind the counter lightly rapping her fingernails against the table top as she gazed from him to the other beings in the cafe. She straightened up, though, when he stopped inspecting the place and started to walk in her direction.

"Hello, what can I get you?"

Arthur pressed his lips firmly together as he eyed the menu above the waitress's head. It was much like every other cafe he had been to: coffee, juice, other drinks, sandwiches, and pastries. After a moment of consideration, he drew his gaze back.

"Three cappuccinos."

He watched as she typed in the prices from her memory, which meant one of two things; cappuccinos were popular among the cafe or the waitress simply memorized the whole menu. Either way, he didn't have time to linger on the thought.

The young female glanced up from the cash register and offered him a small smile. "Is that all?"

Arthur noted that her voice was lower than most of the girls that squeal on a regular basis. Though, the voice matched with the girl's appearance; her dark brown curls were drawn back into a ponytail, and she wore barely any make up aside from the usual blush.

Said female quirked an eyebrow and repeated the question.

Embarrassed that he didn't answer right away, he nodded once. At the moment, he didn't trust his voice; he had been, after all, caught inspecting the girl, but unlike others, it was for a different reason. The girl was a teenager, his age, he imagined, and she was rather stunning, appearance-wise, but aside from the fact that she was a teenager and pretty, Arthur didn't have much of an interest.

She, on the other hand, wasn't hiding her smile, which gave him the idea that she was interested, but he quickly waved that thought off; he didn't want to be caught in the drama teenagers usually caused.

Without word, he paid for the three drinks and gazed elsewhere to avoid staring at her like he did before. Unfortunately, she started speaking to him after she called out the orders to someone named Yusuf. And honestly, all Arthur could think of at the time of the question was '_what kind of a name is Yusuf?_', because he had never heard the name before. Yet, passing it off as a foreign name, he turned back to the girl to acknowledge her question. She rolled her eyes and began to repeat herself, but he quickly cut her off before any further embarrassment could be brought to him.

"I heard what you asked. Yes, I'm new here. My family and I moved in this morning."

To be honest, Arthur wasn't sure if the cold tone in his voice was intentional or not. He had been on the edge ever since the female repeated herself the first time, nonetheless, caught him staring, but at the same time, he didn't really have a right to be rude to the female. She wasn't rude to him, or at least, not yet. Though, the sharp words he allowed to escape from his mouth did seem to trigger the young female's attitude.

She rolled her eyes and stepped away from the counter.

"Okay, okay. Just asking."

She then continued to mutter something (probably unintelligent) under her breath before serving him his orders.

"Have a good day."

The tone of her voice matched his own a few moments back; it was pointed and dark with no emotion other than dislike behind it. For a second, Arthur was prepared to shoot something back, but he luckily caught himself before he could say something else. After all, he didn't want to make the situation worse than of already was. Besides, it was only his first day in the town; he didn't want a bad impression.

Holding that thought, he held out his hand to other.

"I'm Arthur."

It was one of the most awkward moment of his life. He felt as if he just drew himself from some sort of verbal cat fight before trying to make peace by introducing himself and sticking out his hand to shake. Not to mention, he was beginning to feel the embarrassment as well. His body began to tingle, initiating the thought that people within the cafe were watching him, but he didn't dare lower his hand; it would only make him more embarrassed as well as give him an appearance of a coward.

Fortunately, the girl snapped out of her trance rather quickly and shook his hand. Her grip was tight and the shake was firm, but it was shook only twice before she let her hand draw away. Yet, preceding that was her introduction.

"Ariadne."

Arthur hadn't heard much of that name, but he thought it had a nice tone to it. Or at least, a nicer tone than Yusuf.

He gave a curt nod and weighed the three drinks in his hands.

"Have a nice day, Ariadne."

This time around, she did smile.

"You too."

Her voice lifted from the bitterness, much to Arthur's liking.

Seeing that the whole ordeal was resolved, he made his way back towards his car, feeling as if he was rather accomplished in socializing with someone from the town.

As Arthur started his automobile and pulled out of the lot, he lifted the cappuccino to his lips and took a sip. Surprisingly, it was near perfection as the one from the cafe back in Chicago with just the right amount of cinnamon blended within. He would need to send his regards to Yusuf for making cappuccino this fair, but that was noted to do later, when and _if_ he decided to go back.

For now, his main concern was carrying three drinks back into the house without carelessly tripping over the few remaining boxes strewn between the two moving vans. Much to his luck, he made it safely inside and delivered his drink to the nearby table. Now, weighing the remaining cappuccinos in his left and right hand, he strolled throughout the first level of the house in search for his father. Instead of finding his father like he expected, Arthur found himself faced with his mother, who was placing canned goods into the pantry.

As he stepped in, she peered up. Her eyes immediately smiled, which reflected the expression on her lips.

"Back already?"

At the question, he nodded twice before placing the cup of cappuccino on an empty shelf next to her.

"I just dropped by the cafe."

Not wanting to stick around for an attempt in conversation, Arthur turned and stepped out of the pantry. A second following that, he halted to the sound of his mother calling out his name. Reluctant, he gazed over his shoulder.

"Yes?"

Her response was a soft smile. "Thank you."

To that, he simply gave another nod. "You're welcome."

Having nothing else to say, Arthur ushered out of the area.

After picking up his own drink, he proceeded up the stairs and into the master bedroom, where he found his father ordering the workers to put up the portraits accordingly. His conversation, if you can even call it one, with his father was shorter than the one he had a few moments ago. His father merely thanked him for the drink before shooing him off, and not wanting to bother, Arthur removed himself from the bedroom and attended his own.

The moment he stepped into his room, he knew it had been tampered with. The mirror, which was the first thing he paid attention to, was dust-free. The letters were gone, and the glass shone as if it had just been cleaned less than ten minutes ago. There was no doubt that a worker, or his mother, came in and tidied it. And even though it looked new and polished, the fact that it still cast an eerie atmosphere to his room made him a bit hesitant to actually settle back down.

He tore his gaze away and emptied his pockets and hands of the cappuccino, car keys, and cellphone onto the nightstand. When that motion was done, Arthur froze once more. Some sort of shiver shot down his spine unconsciously, and never before in his life was he actually frightened to look behind him, where the mirror sat.

After careful consideration, he turned around, his heart rapping against his heart at an amazing rate. He didn't see why, though. There was absolutely nothing odd about the full-body mirror aside from the fact that it was in his room.

He shook his head and reverted his attention to his nightstand. All three items were untouched, seeing that they were in the same exact place. Yet, he found himself trying to figure out why the hair on the back of his neck was rising. His only reason was the mirror, but that was ridiculous; he had been around mirrors before. It was just this particular one that made him uncomfortable. Not sparing another moment in the room, he turned and hurried out.

It was only a few seconds later that he had to return in order to pick up his ringing phone. Fortunately, it was one of his suitable friends from Chicago, and at the moment, the person became his best friend for calling at the moment when he needed distraction the most.

He wasted no time to flip open his phone and place it against his ear.

"Robert," he greeted while desperately trying to swat away the uneasy feeling that enveloped him the moment he stepped foot into the room.

"Arthur. Have you settled down yet?"

Tugging at the ends of his shirt, he answered. "I have. Mother and father are still unpacking and arranging everything. How are you doing?"

There was a sigh at the other line.

He knew what that meant; Robert was going to say something along the lines of his social problems.

And sure enough, a second later, his friend answered in a familiar manner. "Had another row with my father."

Of course; while most teenagers are worried about finding love, fitting in, and things along those lines, Robert was worried about not being able to bond properly with his father since his father obviously thought of him as anything but a son.

Arthur felt himself roll his eyes as that was told.

For the years he had been companions with Robert, which was ever since childhood (considering that Robert's father and his own were on good terms), he heard nothing aside from dispute between his friend and his father. Yet, that wasn't any of his problem. Robert, on the other hand, was apparently thinking that it was, seeing that he began to lay down the details of their last fight.

"He doesn't think highly of me. I'm not sure what I did wrong."

Arthur rubbed the bridge of his nose with the index finger and thumb of his free hand.

He turned and stepped towards the door, but stopped abruptly. As Robert was half way complaining about his relationship with his father, the cellphone in Arthur's hand slipped out and fell to the floor. His brown eyes were wide, and his face displayed shock as he stared at the mirror in horror. He could have sworn, for a fleeting second, that he saw someone else in the full-body mirror. It wasn't him, he was sure of, since the figure, if he remembered correctly from memory, had a tattered, dirty light pink button up followed by black, and probably torn as well, trousers. Yet, it was only for a flick of a second; Arthur wasn't entirely sure if he saw correctly, if it was his pure imagination, or maybe just plain paranoia?

At the moment, he could really care less.

Picking up the phone, he quickly made his way out of his bedroom. At the midpoint of the hallway, he caught himself and attempted to breathe evenly again. In his hands, Robert was nearly shouting on the other line. When Arthur put the phone to his ear again, he heard the other practically yelling "are you alright?" into the cellular device. To this, Arthur answered quickly. "I'm fine. I need to go. Talk to you later."

Without saying more, he clasped the phone shut and made a beeline towards the master bedroom. He knew he was overreacting, but the mirror had to be gone, and lucky for him, the workers were still about. Still with an irregular heartbeat, he approached his father with the situation.

"There's a mirror in my room. I want it gone. Now."

His father usually complied to what he would demand, but this time around, his father didn't, or at least, not immediately.

"Not now, Arthur. I'll send a worker in there to remove it later."

Arthur didn't know when _'later' _was, but it was obviously not today, considering that the mirror was still there when he watched the workers leave four hours after he requested the object to be removed. He consulted his father again about the matter. This time, his father told him that he would move it tomorrow since he was in a tiring condition already. And of course, giving his father the worthwhile rest, Arthur turned and tried to deal with the mirror itself.

He didn't last long; he tried to suppress the uneasy feeling as he strolled back into his given room to grab his drink and cellphone, but the awkward aura didn't cease. He quickly made his way out of said room after that, and the hours proceeding his exit, he steered clear of the place. He considered telling his father about the whole ordeal, but his father would only think that he was being ridiculous, or at the very least, think he had gone insane. Objects appearing in the mirror, after all, were nothing but mere reflections.

Then, why did he see something else? Nothing within the room was a shade of pink.

Arthur puzzled over this for the remaining hours of the day while lounging on the sofa. He knew he had better things to be doing, but he didn't faze in his current position. In fact, he only shifted slightly every few moments. When his mother called for dinner (which was carry out, unfortunately), he was rather reluctant to move, yet with the protests of his stomach, he stood up and made his way to the kitchen.

Arthur found himself eating some sort of noodles for dinner, which was a first in a long time, considering that it was take-out. He ate in silence next to his mother (his father claimed that he would eat later). Though he tried to ignore it, he could feel his mother's gaze upon him, and when he actually looked up in her direction, her sights were elsewhere. He had glanced up many times, thinking that perhaps he could mend the broken relationship he had with her, but at the last moment, he would drop his gaze and push the idea away.

Fifteen minutes later, he removed himself from the table, dumped his trash, and proceeded to his original position. Five minutes later, he heard his mother throw away her trash before heading up the stairs.

It was a nearly an hour later that he decided to follow her footsteps. The house was quiet as well as dark, giving Arthur an eerie sense, but nonetheless, he squashed the feeling and slowly made his way back to his room.

A few moments back, he had debated on whether or not to sleep in his room. They did, after all, have two guest rooms, but unfortunately, neither of them were furnished with a bed. In addition to that, he was sure that his father wouldn't be impressed if he slept on the couch when there was a comfortable bed in his room waiting for him. So, he made his decision; he would sleep in his room, but he would sleep in a position that would prevent him from seeing the mirror. That would mean that he would have to sleep on his left side the entire night. Arthur wasn't opposed to that, but he feared waking up on his right side, which would make him look at the mirror. Then again, it was just a mirror. He told himself this repeatedly, but no matter how much he wanted to believe his own words, his fear would rise up and take over. But he was a grown man; things like this shouldn't faze him as much as it did. He was just being ludicrous.

Holding onto that rather positive thought, he slipped into the room. He dared not look in the mirror's direction despite the fact that he was curious to. Instead, he merely strolled to his closet, grabbed the things needed for a shower, before shutting himself into the bathroom.

The bathroom was nicely decorated, though it was smaller than the one he expected. It contained a simple shower area, a sink, a toilet, and a closet to store towels, other necessities and whatnot. After placing his neatly folded t-shirt and sweatpants along with the towel on the rail outside of the shower and the soaps at the foot of it, Arthur stripped out of his current clothes and stepped into said shower.

He felt his muscles start to relax under the hot pouring water, and much to his enjoyment, he became relieved as well. The stress that tailed along with moving, starting school in a few days, and the mirror seemed to have drifted off elsewhere as he allowed the water to run down his body like fluttered touches.

He poured a bit of shampoo in his hair and gently massaged his head as he moved the soap around. After rinsing his head, he advanced onto the body soap. Touching his own body never felt more pleasurable as he rubbed his shoulders in order to spread the soap. As he finally finished up, Arthur shut off the shower and opened its door to grab his towel.

He dried and dressed himself in silence, thinking nothing more than how he would manage to sleep tonight knowing that that mirror was there. He could move it, but that would mean that he would have to draw near it, and since it was too close to the wall, he wouldn't be able to go behind it and move it from that way either.

Gathering up his dirty clothes, he tossed it into the foot of his closet, underneath his hanging shirts. Making a mental note to get some sort of basket, Arthur closed both closet doors and paced towards his parents room. His mother was found in her closet; with a kiss on her cheek, he bid her good night. As for his father, he found him downstairs, eating. When 'good nights' were successfully transferred, he returned to his bedroom.

After turning off the lights, he tried his best not to act childish and run to his bed in order to climb under the covers and shut himself from the fear that welled up inside him. Apparently, he still had a childish side to him, even though, in the end, he merely picked up his pace as he neared the bed and climbed into it without looking once in the mirror's direction.

He slept on his side, or at least, he tried to; it was hard, considering that he already developed the habit of sleeping on his back and facing right, but he forced himself into the position. When it didn't work out a few minutes later, Arthur rolled onto his back, squeezed his eyes shut, and turned his head right to the comfortable position that he was usually in every night.

As he tried to sleep, a million thoughts ran through his mind. He found himself unable to fall asleep, since he was busy listening to his echoes in his head about how he was just seeing things and all the eerie feeling to his room was because it wasn't the a room he was accustomed to. Though, of course, that led him to the point where he compared everything in this particular house to the one in Chicago. A few moments proceeding that were the thoughts of his companions. He wasn't close to anyone aside from Robert Fischer Jr., so he could imagine his class not even caring about him not being there next year to snag the title of the top student.

Eventually, Arthur drifted to a light sleep the moment he thought about the schools.

It was a dreamless sleep and relatively short. He woke up to the sound of movement. He wasn't sure where it came from exactly, but he knew it was on his right. Considering that he was facing the ceiling, he debated on whether to check it out or not. In the end, he passed it off as nothing. His eyes closed again, but he didn't fall asleep easily.

Twenty minutes following that, he heard the shuffles again. This time, he did look, and this time, he saw it.

There was a figure in the mirror, illuminated slightly by the moonlight seeping through the bedroom's blinds. The brunet male wore the same clothes as he memorized from earlier— battered pink button up and black slacks.

Arthur wanted to believe that it was his pure imagination, but his sights proved his wanted thoughts wrong.

There was definitely a man in the mirror, and that man wasn't him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Title;** Lined with Silver**  
Warning;** alternate universe, supernatural, teen & confused! Arthur, somewhat ludicrous**  
Summary;** Arthur moves from the big city of Chicago to the small town of Limbo. Everything in the town is to his liking— well, everything except for the full-body mirror, that contains a British man with ridiculous fashion sense, in his new bedroom.  
**Disclaimer;** if only, ohoho ~  
**Author's Notes;** I actually have a chapter out within a week. Whoo! That'safirst. Thank you for the three reviewers! I love you all ~. Annnd, I think that's it. c:

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Arthur felt himself freeze; his eyes widened, and when he sat up to make sure he wasn't seeing things, his mouth dropped open. He watched, unblinking, as the man in the mirror began to panic. The other's eyes masked with shock as well, but what surprised Arthur the most were the words.

"I didn't realize— don't be frightened, darling."

Of course, that was exactly what Arthur was: frightened. Yet, quickly overcoming his state of shock, Arthur scrambled out of his bed and grabbed the nearest weapon he could find. In this case, it was his cellphone, and at the moment, he could really care less if his cellphone was smashed into pieces if that would mean that the mirror would be broken. He raised the object, his heart thundering against his chest, his expression still expressing a mixture between fear and surprise.

The figure in the mirror swung out his arms. "You don't want to do that—" he started, but Arthur cut him off.

"What ... what do you want?"

For the first time in a long time, he heard the weakness in his voice. There was no longer confidence in him, and with that thought, he began to fear deeper. He wanted to run, but his effort had already gotten him out of bed. His bare feet locked to the ground as he dwell in horror. The man didn't make it any better by actually replying to him.

"Nothing! I want nothing; just don't break the glass— I'm Eames. My name is Eames— no, no, _don't you dare_—"

Arthur threw it, and due to his horrid hand-eye coordination at the moment, the cellphone hit the silver rim of the mirror and fell to the ground. He stiffened visibly, his eyes becoming wide again. He braced himself, but by how his body was iced over, he found it hard to even move into a defense position.

The figure, Eames, raised both hands in the air slightly in a surrender motion. "Let me explain—"

He didn't get a chance to. The lights turned on, and Eames disappeared. Arthur inhaled and exhaled a couple of times before realizing that his father had asked a question. He glanced over at his guardian before pointing at the mirror.

"There's a man in the mirror. I swear—"

His father gave him a look, which only cued Arthur to start protesting.

"That's not a normal mirror. I saw it—"

His father silenced him with a hand and another pointed look. "Son, you just had a bad dream. Go back to sleep."

Before Arthur could complain, his father flicked off the light. Immediately, he felt the odd sensation sweep over him, and this time, he refused to let it get to him. Without moving from his spot in fear that he would trip, he called out to his father.

"Can we please move it?"

The answer was distant. "Sleep, Arthur. You should be grateful that the last owner's daughter left you a gift." Even though the last part was murmured, he still heard it.

Arthur shut his eyes and tried to suppress the thoughts. He bit into the insides of his cheek as he climbed into bed blindly and turned on his left side. His blanket clutched closely to him as he curled into a ball. That didn't help any. He heard the voice again— the deep male voice with the British accent, and if he was imagining this all, he was sure that he had gone crazy.

"I won't hurt you, dear."

Arthur tried his best to shut out such voice, but it continued.

"Don't be frightened. It's never my intention to scare or hurt anyone, honest."

There was no way his imagination could get this wild. Clutching his bed sheets tightly, he sat up and gazed over. The man was still there. Arthur felt his heart start to thunder again, but he didn't dare back down. With all the courage he could muster up, he stared back.

"What do you want from me?" he asked again, this time, his voice holding more strength than last time.

At the question, he watched as Eames' lips curling up into a small smile, and he feared the answer. Much to the contradiction of his thoughts, the figure did not say anything along the lines of his blood, his body, or something horrid. Instead, it was a suitable answer.

"I just want to talk to you."

A grin still played on Eames' mouth as Arthur continued to stare.

He didn't know what to think— the whole ordeal of a figure in the mirror talking to him was outrageous, but at the same time, it perked his interests. If this was some sort if invention, why wasn't it sold to the world? Surely people would appreciate talking mirrors. Unfortunately, Arthur was not categorized in the same group that wanted talking mirrors. He, after all, didn't fancy looking into the mirror and seeing someone else rather than his own appearance— especially if that someone was a pink button-up wearing, faintly unshaven, no taller than six feet, British person. And see, if Arthur had imagined this all, he would had, at the very least, made the clothes less ludicrous. But of course, that didn't seem to be the case. Then again, the clothes did set a distinguished personality for Eames, and it so happened to be a personality that Arthur wasn't fond of since it involved talking nonstop.

"It's a bad time to talk, isn't it?" came the voice again, drawling out the words as if he were testing them for the first time in years.

The teenager glanced at his alarm clock for the briefest moment before returning his gaze to the other. "It's two in the morning," Arthur answered dully, which fascinated him, since he thought he would stumble over his words again.

"Oh, so it is."

For moments proceeding that, Arthur found himself continuously staring at the mirror, trying to make sense of what was going on. The whole thing was impossible; he must be in a dream state or something.

Eames thought otherwise. "A convenient time to talk without disruptions, if I must say so myself. Let me introduce myself again, pet. My name is Nicholas Eames; feel free to call me Eames. I prefer it, actually. I was cursed into this mirror—"

Arthur decided to cut in there. "I would like you to leave me alone, thank you."

Laying back down again, Arthur turned to his left and pulled the covers up to his chin. He heard a huff coming from the other's direction.

"No need to be rude, pet. But good night to you too."

He couldn't sleep at all, and Eames seemed fully aware of that, considering that he, Arthur, felt a prickling along his body telling him that someone was watching him. And to all honesty, he would like nothing more than to throw the mirror out the window or get out of his bed and go sleep on the couch, but both options showed to be bothersome. He heaved a sigh, drawing out his breath slowly. He wanted to say something along the lines of '_stop watching me, you creep'_, but decided against it. Instead, Arthur merely continued to force sleep on himself. He couldn't, though, considering that there was a mirror with a reflection of some unknown man, sitting on the right side of the bed. He trembled and snuggled deeper into the blankets. In the midst of the silence, he heard a breathing aside from his own. That meant Eames was still there, probably watching him. This frightened and gave him the chills.

At two thirty on the clock, he couldn't handle it anymore. He sat up and threw a glare at the mirror's direction.

Eames grinned. "How was your nap, love?"

To that, Arthur merely scowled and slipped out of his bed. Fear began creeping up inside him as he neared the mirror, but he did his best to tie them down. He arrived at the foot of the mirror and grabbed the sides. Eames suddenly chuckled, which made Arthur spring back in surprise. He wasn't expecting that, nor did he expect the words following that.

"You look more dashing up close. What did you say your name was?"

"Is," Arthur corrected automatically at the same time he chose to ignore the question. He placed both hands on each side of the mirror and attempted to move it.

It didn't budge.

"Iz? I would expect a name like Eduardo or Antoine from you, but Iz is fine. And I wouldn't try that, pet. A girl tried the same thing, as did her father. This mirror can't move, so fortunately, I won't be going anywhere."

Arthur pulled back and folded his arms across his chest. This was getting more ridiculous by the moment. A mirror that talked and could not be moved—what exactly is wrong with the entire picture? Giving up on that, Arthur dragged a blanket off his bed and proceeded to make his way out of the room.

"Hey, it's not my fault that—"

After closing the bedroom door to shut out the voice, he proceeded down the stairs and into the living room. The sofa wasn't as comfortable as his bed, but he found it easier to relax into since all the hair that had been standing up at the back of his neck was now nonexistence. But of course, that didn't rule out his paranoia and whatnot.

Arthur laid awake and stared at the TV screen as if he expected a person to appear there. It didn't do anything, so him pulling an all-nighter wasn't necessary. He yawned and pulled the covers closer to him. The sun was peeking out of the horizon now, lighting the place with a warm feel. And with the light, he felt more courage return to him.

Using that as an advantage, he gathered his blankets into his arms and made his way back to his room. He opened the door slowly and peered in, expecting some sort of destruction to be within. His room looked the exact same as he left it. Content with that, Arthur moved forward, conscious of his surroundings. He placed his blanket on the bed before looking in the mirror's direction. He saw nothing but what a regular mirror was supposed to reflect. Did that mean that he dreamed up the whole ordeal? He doubted that, so he didn't dare draw close to move the mirror elsewhere. Instead, he grabbed one of the two bedsheets strewn over his bed and threw it over the object. This satisfied him up to the point when he finished taking his morning shower and grooming up. As he walked back into his room to dump his clothes, the familiar voice returned.

"You know, I can't see your pretty face with this over my sights."

Arthur's first instinct was to jump and run, though he only fulfilled half of that; he jumped, allowed goosebumps to travel up his arm, before calming himself down so that he could throw the clothes into the pile he made yesterday. After promptly completing that task, Arthur glanced in the mirror's direction and stared. He was half-expecting his white bedspread to whip up and off the mirror, but all he got in response was the Englishman's voice.

"You know, this is _nearly_ transparent, which means I can _nearly _see you. Your tactic isn't really fool-proof, love."

Arthur found himself fearless at the moment. He was merely torn between reality and the dream world. Everything aside from the mirror itself was real, and he was sure of that. It couldn't be that he was lonely enough to conjure up something like this? If that was the case, then why didn't this Eames person appear elsewhere? Like the bathroom mirror (which he was anxiously aware of while he took his shower) or the television? Would that mean that he _wasn't _imagining this?

Arthur's brows furrowed ever so slightly as a small breath drew out of him.

"I can still see you, pet," came the sing-song voice, thick on the British accent.

The teen shot the mirror a cold look and decided for the moment that it wasn't his imagination. After all, why would he come up with someone who was a pathetically annoying creeper? And if that was the case, then, what the hell? There was a man named Eames trapped inside the mirror, that sat on the right of his bed, and the mirror, itself, wouldn't budge.

He considered trying again, but with the blanket over it, the man's actions were unpredictable. He might as well be pulled into the mirror while trying to grab it ...

No— _no_.

He was simply out of his mind. The summer's heat was just getting to him. The mirror was probably a toy the girl of the last family left behind to scare him. That made some sense, but not much. Unless it was advanced technology, Arthur doubted that it could respond like a human would, and with an accent on top of that.

"If you insist on a staring contest, the least you could do is remove this bloody thing so I can see if you're cheating or not."

Arthur contemplated for that moment how much trouble he would get in if he were to smash the glass. Though, before he could even come to a conclusion, he heard another voice, and he jumped.

"Was that you?"

It was the soft and delicate voice of his mother. He breathed in relief, but that didn't stop him from heaving while regaining his posture. She blinked at him, and Arthur quickly tried to relax his wildly pounding heart before looking over. He opened his mouth to say the first thing that came across his mind, but she spoke again.

"Why is the mirror covered?"

Arthur didn't want to sound like a lunatic, so he lied. "I was cleaning up ... and I had to put the bed sheet aside."

It was a pitiful excuse, but it was the only thing he came up with at that particular moment.

"Oh." His mother turned back to him. "Were you mimicking a voice?"

Arthur's gaze flickered to the mirror for a split moment before nodding.

She clasped her hands together while her expressions lit up. "You can pull off the English's accent perfectly."

And to all honesty, he thought his mother sounded like a fangirl, but he didn't voice his thoughts in fear that she would question him how and why.

He forced a small smile. "It takes practice," he merely responded, not wanting the awkwardness to take over. After that, he quickly changed the subject. "What are you doing up this early, mother?"

She inspected him for a moment before strolling towards the mirror's direction. "I wanted to see the sun rise. You look as if you were up for a bit of time." She stopped next to the mirror and glanced over her shoulder at him. "This mirror has been here through five families," she informed. "I suppose it's a welcome gift from the original house owners."

She smiled at him and moved to take off the bed sheet, but Arthur yelped out a no. Luckily, his mother halted in time, and in return, he received a questionable look. He flushed from embarrassment. "Is something the matter?"

Arthur shook his head. "Just remembered that I forgot to pick up my summer reading books," he murmured while hating the fact that he had to lie constantly.

His mother twisted up her expression but gave a slight nod. "Alright, then. Just make sure to take the sheet off from the mirror."

Arthur had never felt more relieved to see his mother leave. He exhaled slowly before seating himself on the edge of the bed. Not only two moments later did Eames talk.

"It's bad to lie to your mother."

The teen just glared to his right. "Stop talking to me," he hissed.

That didn't work.

Eames mimicked a soft gasp. "I'm truly hurt, darling. I, for one, love to talk, so I can't just stop, and two, you're not really giving me an option."

Arthur didn't even ask what the other was rambling about. He just removed himself from the bed and walked over to the mirror. After pulling the bed sheet off, he came face-to-face with the Englishman again. And being this close in the sheer daylight, he could fully inspect him.

There wasn't a doubt about it; Eames was quite attractive for a man. Aside from the hideous fashion sense and the fact that he was in the mirror, Eames was fair— well, fair to point in which made Arthur stare for more than the intended moment, which was a horrible decision considering that the Englishman caught onto his staring.

"Your eyes are beautiful," he commented, which caught Arthur off guard.

The young brunet blinked, then leaned away from the mirror.

"You're only my imagination," he said in return, hoping that he could plant the idea that this was all part of his mind so that he insured his sanity.

Eames wasn't helping, though. The man's lips curled into a small smile. "I assure you I am more than a figment of your imagination."

At the sound of that reply, the corner of Arthur's mouth dipped slightly into a frown.

Furthermore, the proceeding comment made him scowl. "But I'm happy to hear that you include me while you're daydreaming. What else do you imagine?"

That was about all he could take of the babbling male. He glanced around for an item to use as a throwing object. For the briefest moment, he considered his cellphone again, but seeing how he almost broke it the last time, he decided against it. But that didn't stop him from using his cylindrical pencil holder. As he picked it up and tested its weight, he heard the protests once more.

"Now, you don't want to do that, darling. There are other ways—"

Arthur didn't give him time to respond. He paced over to the mirror and prepared to smash the object against the glass. He wanted nothing more than to destroy the antique, but he became hesitant. His father and mother would not be happy to come into his room and see glass all over the floor. So seeing that the best thing to do was to cover the mirror back up, he did just that. Not wanting to hear the complaints, he placed the pencil holder back in its original place before strolling out of the room.

He approached his father with the request to remove the mirror three hours after his exit of the room. At first, his father seemed reluctant to comply, but once Arthur insisted upon it being moved, he came along. As he led the older man into the room, he inquired that he was preserving the mirror from dust, thus why there was a bed sheet over it. His father merely grunted in disapproval before moving to the front of said mirror. Arthur watched as his father curled his fingers around the sides of the mirror and attempted to lift it. He failed on the first few attempts, so Arthur pitched in to help. Even with four hands and doubled strength, the mirror refused to budge. The younger of the two scowled in frustration as the older figure crouched down to the foot if the full-body mirror.

"It's nailed to the ground."

Their gazes met, and his father frowned at him.

"Why do you want to move it?"

Arthur sighed and repeated himself from earlier. "It sets the tone of my bedroom off." It wasn't a complete lie; the silver framing and the position of the mirror did look odd in his room.

His father stood up and gave him a firm look. "Deal with it for now. I'll call someone in to pry these nails off. They look sturdy enough to hold bricks together."

Without saying more, the authoritative figure left.

Arthur frowned and bent down to inspect the nails as well. There wasn't a doubt it; they seem firmly intact into the ground. He drew back up moments later. It was obvious that the owner of the mirror had wanted it to stay in the room for whatever reason he didn't know of. If the owner had wanted to keep the mirror in fine condition, then why didn't he move it? Maybe the original owner was scared of the man in the mirror? Perhaps; it was a possibility. But why was there even a man in the mirror, if it wasn't his own input of a subconscious? It could mean that the owner was in the mirror, but—

"Told you, darling. I'm afraid you can't get rid of me that easily."

Arthur felt insects crawl up his arm, making his hair stand up as the words were spoken in a taunting way. He found Eames' voice and accent charming, yes, but how they would randomly sound near his ear, at the least imaginable time, made him cringe.

Arthur heaved a sigh and ran a hand through his hair. "This is ridiculous," he muttered.

It truly was; never before had he dealt with something that seemed related to magic, or, if he were to not believe in that, related to his imagination running wild, then completely off course. It didn't help that he was torn between the two either; for one, he didn't believe in magic. He was sure that there was some sort of reasoning behind each magic trick. Unless the owner or producer of the mirror was extremely skilled, then it _was_ some sort of magic. But the thought itself was still unbelievable. He needed proof, but proof was staring him straight in the face. And he still couldn't function his brain properly to accept that it was something out of this world.

On the other hand, it could be just his newfound imagination; maybe all of the creativity from the uncreative thoughts had bind together to create this mass production. But everything was based on something. Arthur was positive that he hadn't picked up anything relevant to a man in the mirror, specifically, a man that was completely opposite of him. The whole ordeal didn't make any sense. It was some sort of extremity, but he couldn't believe in any sort of magic. It couldn't be his imagination either, because if it was, something was definitely wrong with him and he would need to seek help immediately before the man appeared everywhere.

"Perhaps if you sit down, remove this coverage, and listen, I'll tell you my story."

The words snapped Arthur from his string of thoughts. He became hesitant over his decision, which was a first (he usually knew what he wanted). In the end, his curiosity had gotten the best of him. He found himself dragging the bed sheet off the mirror to reveal the familiar face of the Englishman.

After that, he stepped away and pressed himself against the farthest wall to avoid any danger that could lash out on him. And at that thought, he glanced around for a weapon of some sort. He decided the pencil holder was the best he had in the area, so he went with that. As his fingers curled around the object, he turned his attention back to Eames.

The man seemed aware of the item in his hands, but he didn't mention it. Instead, he merely requested the door to be closed so that his voice wouldn't project. In response, Arthur bitterly replied that that wasn't necessary, when in reality, he just didn't want to be trapped inside. When the Englishman offered him a seat, he also refused that, seeing that that would only bring him closer to the mirror. In the end, the man rolled his eyes, but began upon Arthur's command— or rather, Arthur's threat.

"I was born on the fifteenth of September in the year of 1977."

Arthur couldn't help but calculate how old the other was, but Eames spoke his answer before he can even accept it.

"Which makes me 20 years old, if your calender's correct. I was born in England, then moved to this town when I was thirteen or something. I lived here, in this very room, for a year."

Arthur felt a tingle run up his arm, and he wanted nothing more than to run. How Eames was staring at him with those startling blue eyes and how his full lips curved to form every word was beginning to get to him with each passing second. Yet, he couldn't look away. It was as if there was an invisible string that attracted him towards the other. If he had scissors, perhaps he could cut away the so-called string. Though, the thought was quickly shaken away so that he could listen to the proceeding words.

"I use to go to Limbo High School. I was a freshman, but I was one of the well-known ones."

Arthur thought that the other was far cocky than inspected.

"I was also a prat."

Point proven.

"I would lead girls on, making it seem like I fancy them. On top of that, I would tease the boys that prefer males by shamelessly flirting with them."

At that, Arthur felt an uneasy feeling in his stomach, but he spoke nothing of it so that Eames could continue telling his bizarre tale.

"One of them was Nash. He wasn't as attractive as others, but he was a closet homosexual. When I realized that, I began teasing him. I flirted; I touched, and he would blush and become a school girl. It was only a week later that I received news that Nash actually fancied me. It disgusted me when I came to the thought that, instead of embarrassing him, I was actually pleasuring him. So on a Friday, after school, I gathered a few members of the basketball team— yes, I played basketball— and we went to seek him out."

Eames paused in his words, closed his eyes, and exhaled slowly. Arthur, examining this, questioned the motion by scrunching up his face, but nevertheless, he continued to remain silent. The man started once more once his gaze returned to the teen's a few seconds later.

"We picked on him. We kicked him around, then we left him in a ditch. He was alive and breathing, but I'm sure we broke his rib cage or something."

Eames' eyes no longer filled with cheerfulness; instead, they showed regret of many sort. Arthur's sights downcast in response.

"I regretted it. I still do. But that night, I couldn't sleep at all. I laid on my bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering if I should go back and help. Face the charges. But I didn't have to. I was alerted by Nash's voice on my right. He simply said '_love is blind'_, and the next thing I knew was that I was looking at him, but he was standing beside my bed. I was in the mirror."

Arthur was sure he heard the crack in the other's voice then.

"I asked what was going on. I pounded on the glass and demanded freedom. Nash just stared at me and told me words that stuck to me till this day."

There was another pause in which Arthur peered up. Eames was seated, his arms wrapping around knees. His eyes were cast upon the floor. Nevertheless, he continued, but this time, with a less bold voice.

"He told me that I'm in the mirror that could not and can not be moved. He didn't say what would happen if someone— or I— break the glass, so I fear the worst. What he did say was '_next time you decide to break someone's heart, think about how they would feel; until you discover the feeling and what love is, you won't be free_.' He disappeared after that. I thought it was nothing but a fairy tale— that I was dreaming. But I wasn't. I'm not. This is reality. I made a mistake, and this happens."

Eames inhaled sharply.

"I was pronounced missing. I shouted for help whenever I could, but it didn't work. I soon realized that they couldn't see me, so every time they would hear me, they would think it's their imagination. My grandparents moved out three months later.

"A new family moved in a month later. They had a baby girl no older than three. I talked to her, but she didn't place where I was. When her mum came in, I tried to get her attention. She flipped. They called the paranormal investigators. They discovered nothing. She was labeled insane.

"I shut up for some time after that. Nearly half a year later, another family moved in. It was two men, actually, and their adopted baby girl. The girl couldn't see me, but one of the men did. At first, he thought this was a joke, but when I actually started responding— that family left.

"A family of five resided next, a year or something later. They had a daughter, age fifteen, I'm assuming. She saw me. And like the other families, she had her family move out two months later.

"This house was unoccupied for a long time. I lost track of the day, the time— everything. But over the years, I thought over his words— I thought and considered everything. I realized the mistakes I've made.

"Just less than a year ago, I think, a family of three moved in. They had a daughter, age sixteen. She could see me. She wasn't scared of me. She didn't even tell anyone about me. We became friends. For once, I felt what it was like to be accepted again. I began to fall for her, but before I could be head over heels, she told me that she was moving away. I was heartbroken. But she spent the last few hours with me; just talking to me. I told her everything, and in return, she gave me her thoughts. She thought that this is somewhat like a fairytale and suggested that the reason why I was visible to some is because I'm capable of falling in love with them or something. She also joked that I would need true love's kiss to break the curse. I asked her for a kiss. She laughed it off."

Eames sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

"She was a lovely girl."

The blue eyes returned to Arthur along with the soft smile.

"And now, you can see me, correct? If she's right, then I'm capable of falling in love with you."

"Ludicrous." The word slipped out of Arthur's mouth before he could even help it.

But it was true; the entire story seemed as if it was made up— like it was some beginning to a tragic fairytale. Not to mention, Eames saying that he was capable of falling for Arthur? That was ridiculous as it sounded; Arthur was sure he had a repelling charm where he sent people that fancied him away. Though, really, it wasn't needed. No one had actually approached him in such manner, and he was sure if they did, they would turn and walk away. Arthur didn't care about relationships at this point. Truthfully, he just wanted to finish school, get a job, then settle down with whoever he takes an interest to. And all that should be completed within five years, if not less. At this moment, he was simply wasting his time staring at the man in the mirror who was trying to convince him that the story was real. Arthur could have been doing something better, like reading, but he agreed to hear the story out; he just didn't agree that he would believe it.

And yet, Eames seemed determined.

"It's true. How else would you explain this?"

The question caught the teen stumped. He pondered over it for a few moments before folding his arms across his chest and answering. "You could be part of my—"

Eames didn't allow him to finish, which made Arthur frown; he didn't like being interrupted. "This is reality. I, Nicholas Eames, am stuck in mirror. And I would like to get out, thank you."

Arthur's eyes narrowed ever so slightly. "Amuse me," he challenged in a murmur, hoping that Eames caught it as pure sarcasm.

Unfortunately, he didn't.

"Kiss me."

That actually caught Arthur off guard, and he found himself masking an expression of confusion. Kiss him— a mirror? He could only fear how his parents would react if they stepped in the room at the moment. They would think that he was either in love with himself or officially gone insane, which wasn't a really good thought. Eames, on the other hand, seemed to have an objective.

"That's how fairy tales are like, no? Sleeping Beauty wakes up from a kiss; Ariel's kiss would have allowed her to stay with the prince; Belle's kiss broke the beast's spell. Your kiss might bring me out."

Arthur refused to believe that this was all in his imagination now; he wasn't that desperate. Therefore, he declared this as reality, which meant that there was actually a man in the mirror, and that man wanted a kiss. Which, of course, Arthur immediately protested. He allowed his arms to fall to his side as he answered.

"No."

And that cued more words from the other. "You're not actually— you're just kissing the mirror! I'm tired of being in here. I've learned my mistakes—"

"No."

Arthur glared in hopes of having Eames disappear again so that the reflection was his own. Eames did the opposite; he continued trying to convince him.

"It's just a kiss. I promise I won't bother you. It's just one favor."

The corner of the teen's mouth twitched. "I'm not your fairy tale's true love," he stated as coolly as he could while trying to settle his pounding heart.

"Oh, but you can be."

Arthur didn't wish to reply to that; he just wanted to cover the mirror back up, and he wondered, for the briefest moment, if it would shut the other up if he duct taped the entire mirror. But alas, his parents wouldn't appreciate that. Nevertheless, he wouldn't be able to get duct tape without his guardians asking why. So he just settled with a blank look.

"No."

He expected the other to continue whining, but much to his luck, Eames just fell silent yet continued to watch him. Arthur glanced elsewhere, wondering if he could successfully make it out of the room without being called back or something. Though, at the feel of someone watching him, he turned and looked back. Eames was still staring at him, but a second later, he glanced away with a sigh.

"You can't blame a man for trying," he murmured. "I had so many chances to fall in love; I just took them for granted. Look how I turned out." The blue eyes returned to the younger male. "I blew my chance again, didn't I?"

Arthur didn't answer, but he kept his expression firm.

In a quieter voice, Eames continued. "Are you going to move away anytime soon?"

There was a string of silence in which Arthur used to consider whether he should answer or not. And he wasn't sure why he decided to answer, but he did. "Not anytime soon."

Ever so faintly, a smile curved up on the man's lips. "Good. We have time to fall in love with each other."

That alone rendered Arthur wordless.


	3. Chapter 3

**Warning;** alternate universe, supernatural, teen & dramatic! Arthur, AU ages, perverted-ness, OCs: Cheyenne (just the given name; she's the blonde chick Eames forged), Lorenzo, Houston, Timothy ( the school needs more students than the Inception cast. D: )

**Disclaimer;** if only, ohoho ~

**Author's Notes;** I love you guys. Q wQ

* * *

Over the span of the time in which Eames told his story and the night before the first school day, Arthur tried his best to deal with the mirror. His father didn't call anyone to come in and remove the mirror much to Arthur's misfortune. To make matters worse, he was told to deal with it. When he requested to move his bedroom to one of the guest's, his father just gave him a pointed look, and that ended the conversation. Nevertheless, if things couldn't get worse from that point, his mother then requested him to remove the bed sheet that he put back over the mirror the night proceeding the story telling. So now, Arthur was left to cope with the man in the mirror.

He wasn't doing the very best job at it; the time on the clock read that it was past ten at night, which was an hour after the time he usually slept for school days. He was listening intently, but there was nothing aside from silence that played its music. He turned over and peered at the mirror. Eames wasn't there. For the first time since his arrival of the place, the man wasn't making any sort of presence. At first, this was something to celebrate about, but over time, Arthur began to wonder where the man had gone off to. Another mirror? That was likely. He turned back on his side and closed his eyes. It was only a few moments later that he fell into an easy sleep. He was awoken a few hours later by his alarm clock and a loud exclamation of "_bloody hell_!", courtesy of Eames, of course.

Arthur blinked his eyes open to see that his room was lighted by the rising sun that streamed through his closed blinds. With a soft groan, he pulled himself into a sitting position. As he tried to adapt to the fact that he lacked an hour's worth of sleep, he was also trying to ignore Eames' voice.

"At least give me a fair warning before the alarm goes off— or tell me when it goes off!"

Arthur ignored him; he was far too tired to pay attention. Nevertheless, he slid out of his bed, shut the alarm off, and ambled his way to his closet. After choosing his clothes for the day, the young teen made his way towards the bathroom. The ten minutes long shower woke him up, though he still dwell on the fact that he didn't get enough sleep. He quickly shoved those thoughts aside as he brushed his teeth and groomed up for the day. As he tucked his white button up into his pants and adjusted his tie so that it was properly done, Arthur surveyed his bedroom for anything else he needed. Seeing nothing was left behind, he slung his one-strap backpack on his left shoulder and grabbed his keys. Yet, the moment before he stepped out of the room, he heard the Englishman speaking behind him.

"Have fun at school, pet."

The teen threw the other a look before turning and briskly making his way down the stairs. After grabbing a quick breakfast that consisted nothing but a simple granola bar, he was well on his way to school.

His drive there was peaceful aside from the fact that he was desperately trying to shove the thought that the mirror in his room was haunted by a young Englishman (with horrible fashion sense, might he add once more).

Eames didn't look dangerous; he didn't even sound dangerous, but Arthur knew very well not to judge books by their covers. Eames even admitted to bullying a student; he could only imagine what would happen if the man were to go insane and break out of the mirror. Arthur didn't want to involve himself in such matters. Least he knew, Eames was trapped inside the mirror and his own parents shouldn't be capable of seeing him. That is, unless it was possible for Eames to fall in love with them. In that case, Arthur merely shoved the thoughts from his head, hoping that his parents knew how to defend themselves if Eames got out or something (according to the other, he couldn't, so Arthur can only trust his word on that).

Focusing his attention on his driving, the young teen pulled into a parking space before grabbing his needed items and stepping out of the vehicle. After making sure that his transportation was secured, he moved towards the public school. He felt his heart beginning to thunder against his chest with each step he took towards the building, but he tried his best to suppress them. Being nervous was never something big on him, considering that he had much self-confidence, but the entire feel of a public school made him ... eager? Arthur didn't think for a moment that he was eager to attend a public school, but nevertheless, that was easier to believe than him being nervous, because there was nothing to literally be jittery about.

He moved in after a crowd of chattering students. Upon entrance, Arthur glanced around and inspected the area with a critical eye. The place wasn't as new and shiny as the usual public schools were. Not to mention, everyone was in many shades of various colors, which was a new sight to him, since no one's outfit looked like another. That alone would need getting use to, but at the moment, he didn't want to stand around staring at numerous students, so he moved along.

Following the signs directed, he proceeded down many hallways and up a flight of stairs to get to the class that was reportedly his homeroom. The classroom was empty, aside from the fact that the teacher was seated in her desk shuffling through papers. Feeling rather awkward, Arthur knocked. The woman peered up, then smiled at him. He immediately felt some sort of relief wash over him. Proceeding forward, he greeted her with an introduction and a firm hand shake.

"My name is Arthur Irvings. I recently moved here from Chicago."

"Give me moment, Mr. Irvings."

Allowing his gaze to wander off, he waited for further words from the other. When she spoke again, his sights returned. She held out a few sheets of paper to him, to which he took.

"The sheet on top is your daily schedule. Every morning, you are to report to your first period class. The others are rules and regulations along with some forms that need to be signed by you and your legal guardian and returned by the end of this week to the office."

He thumbed through the papers as she mentioned them. Giving a curt nod, he thanked her and briskly walked to his first period.

There weren't many people about in the classroom; there were only two students mulling about (the teacher wasn't even present). They were both seated in the far back corner, whispering and giggling at something. When Arthur walked in, they both lifted their heads and peered at his direction before returning to their chatter. Paying no attention to them, he paced over to one of the empty desks and took a seat.

Still visibly tensed, the young teen peered around the small room. There were only twenty desks around, which wasn't many compared to his private school's count of thirty-five. The walls, as he noticed, were also in a damaged form by means of stray marks made by coloring utensils and whatnot. The desk he sat in wasn't very sturdy either and rocked whenever he decided to change his position. When that began to bother him, he stopped moving around to examine the place. He sat back and inspected the board. The words printed with a hard-to-read handwriting style said _'welcome, students! Mr. __Grant__, physics; free seating'_. From the looks of it, he was in the correct room; it was just that the teacher wasn't in yet. And to that, Arthur frowned.

It would be easy for any student to stroll in, steal something from Mr. Grant's desk, before running away with a few witnesses to bare. Unless, of course, this school was completely theft-free and safe, which Arthur heavily doubted. Sure, he may feel more relaxed when driving around, but that didn't mean that there weren't crimes around, nevertheless, unsafe situation's lingering nearby waiting to strike. The thought made his brows furrow once again, so he quickly waved off it off.

Much to his luck, he didn't have to stray away from the thought, since the female that strolled into class had provided enough distraction for him. The moment she walked in, Arthur glanced in her direction. Her face was, without a doubt, familiar. And from the looks of it, she recognized him as well. At the first few seconds, he merely watched as she took a seat next to him. Once seated, she turned to him and offered him a small smile.

"I didn't think that you were around my age," she started.

Arthur wasn't sure if he should be glad for that comment or offended; he did dress and socialize in way as if he was older than his age, yes, but at the same time, he didn't think that he appeared that old yet. The girl must have realized that he was frowning, since she immediately added onto her greeting.

"No offense, though."

That didn't make Arthur feel any better, but he shrugged it off as nothing to be concerned about. "I'm seventeen," he answered bluntly, leaning back against his desk chair and crossing his legs.

She quirked a brow in response to this action, but didn't ask about it. Instead, she merely turned her body to face him so that she wasn't craning her neck.

"I'm sixteen. A junior."

Junior? A questionable look passed the young male's expression. He was sure that Physics was a senior class, or at least, that was what it was listed on the classes mandatory for seniors. Perhaps he was wrong, or maybe the classes differed. His eyes continued to bore through her.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but this is a seniors' class, no?"

She smiled at the question. "It is; I already took the other mandatory science classes in previous years."

Which more than likely meant that this female was smart.

Arthur smiled lightly. He had competition, it seemed like. But she was still a junior; he _should_ have more knowledge than her. "I'm impressed," he stated.

At that, the girl's cheeks began to warm. "Thanks. I try." She then turned back and opened her folder. Drawing out a piece of paper, she leaned over. "What classes do you have?"

Arthur peered at her schedule for a moment before fishing his out. For the next few seconds, he ignored a few students' entrances in order to compare the two schedules. Before he could announce his conclusion, Ariadne had already piped up her's.

"We have gym and history together! That's also our lunch period." She grinned at him as if she was waiting for him to make a comment. When he did, it was a mere "_excellent_". Luckily, the teacher decided to enter at that moment, which saved him from saying anything more.

Turning away from the female, Arthur watched as the middle-aged teacher paced across the room to pick up a folder that once laid on his desk. He then proceeded to introduce himself and go over the necessities of being in the class, the rules, and whatnot. None of which, of course, was anything new to the young teen; he had heard of such requirements before. They were quite simple, unlike the private schools he once attended. Mr. Grant claimed that there would be two projects per semester; in the past, Arthur had dealt with a total of five various ones from the same class, so he felt as if this class was going to be easy (even though he wasn't the best at science). He shrugged the thought off, though, and tuned back in on what the instructor was saying.

Mr. Grant was now introducing the last few rules. Following that was the issuing of books. When Arthur's last name was called out, he stood up and headed over to where the teacher stood. After signing his name and putting the number of the copy he had received, Arthur returned to his desk. Ariadne, last name Dutch, as he realized, followed his footsteps a couple of seconds later. When she returned, she was weighing the physics book in her hands.

"This is going to weigh me down," she huffed.

Arthur, on the other hand, didn't mind the weight as much, but he could admit that he wouldn't like balancing it among other books in his arms or in his backpack. So, in response, he merely nodded once.

A moment later, she spoke up again. "When are we getting lockers?"

Arthur turned to answer that he didn't know, but upon realizing that she wasn't questioning him, he sealed his lips shut. The teacher, still assigning the books to the remaining students, paused briefly at his work before answering.

"Fourth period, I believe."

Ariadne groaned and turned her gaze to him once more. "I would have to lag around four books," she complained.

Arthur glanced away and rolled his eyes. "It can't be that heavy," he responded.

A reply to his words came almost instantly. "Guess you're right. Better than carrying seven from all our classes, eh?"

He didn't respond back, and for a bit of time, he wasn't even paying attention to what she was saying, so when the bell rang, he had to tune back in on her words.

"—you in third."

Ariadne smiled and waved goodbye to him before leaving. From that point, Arthur merely wondered why she was acting different from the first time he met her; maybe he was unconsciously nodding to what she was talking about to fool her that he was listening? It was a possibility, but it seemed unlikely. Maybe she wasn't even talking to him— that would have made more sense.

Giving up on trying to understand, the young male stood up and gathered his items into his arms. A couple of moments later, he walked into Calculus class taught by Mr. Saito. Immediately upon entrance, he felt the teacher's observing stare on him from the front of the classroom. At that, Arthur halted in his step; the whole thing of Eames being in the mirror was getting to him. There wasn't a mirror around, but he felt the familiar chill he always got when he knew Eames was watching him.

"Take a seat, sir," Mr. Saito instructed, spreading his right arm out as if he was advertising the desks.

Quickly snapping from his daze, Arthur ushered over to an empty seat on the right of a blond male. After recovering from the embarrassment, he straightened up and watched as the instructor close the door at the sound of the bell. Mr. Saito then walked briskly back to the blackboard. As the chalk was picked up, Arthur's eyes caught sight of a math problem forming on the board. Beside him, the blond figure began scribbling down in his notebook. Arthur quirked his brow as he examined the other's work from the desk over. The other student was apparently working out the problem, and feeling as if this should be a competition, Arthur drew out his pencil and peered back up at the board. Mr. Saito moved out of the way just in time and instructed the students within the class to complete said problem.

At the looks of it, Arthur's brows knitted close to each other. He had seen a similar problem before when working out his homework during a pre-calculus class, but how he managed to, he wasn't sure of. Nevertheless, he set to work. He copied the problem down on a blank sheet of paper before tapping the eraser end of his utensil against the desk lightly. He rearranged the numbers and variables. That didn't change anything. He looked up at the teacher, who was observing the class. When the other man returned his gaze, he dropped his own sights back to the paper. A couple of more seconds was focused on the problem before he glanced up once more. This time, he peered at the student sitting beside him. Nearly half of the blond's page was filled with work, but he was tapping his eraser end against his lip, which gave Arthur the idea that he didn't know how to solve it either. He glanced around. Only a couple of students were actually writing things down; others were frowning in various directions.

"Three minutes."

When the time leftover was called out, Arthur returned his gaze to his paper. It was only one minute left that he finally dawned down on him how to solve such problem. The process of _how_ simply just clicked in from his memory, giving him an easy access to the answer of the math problem. As time was called, Mr. Saito peered around and asked who thought that they had the answer. Arthur was one of the three that did raise their hand. He watched as the middle-aged man strolled around and checked the other two's answer. They were both incorrect.

As Mr. Saito neared him, Arthur regretted raising his hand. What if he had it wrong too? He would be far embarrassed. Much to his fortune, though, his answer was approved. Feeling gleeful, Arthur wanted to grin, but he kept it back to a small smile. As the man walked away to explain the problem, Arthur leaned back in his chair, triumph crossing over his expressions. A second later, he heard a voice to his left.

"I don't get it. Is there an easier way to solve this?" Upon hearing the question, Arthur glanced over. The blond male, who was apparently the questioner, was leaning towards him curiously.

At the sight of the other student, Arthur felt himself freezing on the spot. The man was undeniably handsome, and the small smile he was offering only proceeded to make the brunet's heart pound. He couldn't help but gape; the man could easily be an actor or model.

"You okay?" The voice brought Arthur back to earth (dammit, he was spacing out again).

He nodded. "I'm ... fine. The concept is easy. You just need to simplify first."

The man glanced back at his paper before whispering "oh." He glanced back and flashed Arthur a brilliant smile.

"Thanks. I did order of operation first." He laughed uncomfortably before holding out a hand. "Dom."

Arthur grasped the soft hand and shook. "Arthur."

He was rather reluctant to pull his hand back; Dom's hand was rather warm and— _no_. This was completely wrong. Obsessing over Dom's beauty was as ridiculous as it sounded. His fingers curled into a fist as he willed the thoughts of such away.

"Are you new—" Dom had started, but was cut off by the teacher, who was glaring at them both for interrupting the explanation by their small talk.

Arthur turned his attention back to the board, though the corner of his eyes lingered on the male next to him. He decided at that moment that Dom seemed like a suitable companion, even though the other was clearly not as intelligent. That was about the only horrid thing about the other man. Yet, shoving the thought aside, he reverted his attention back to Dom once Mr. Saito had finished explaining and was now handing out textbooks.

"Yes, I'm new here," he answered.

Dom grinned. "Do you play sports? Soccer, specifically?"

Arthur shook his head.

"Shame. You would've been a good addition to our team."

Arthur straightened up at the sound of that; he wanted to say something along the lines that he could learn, but seeing how pathetic that was, he didn't comply to his thoughts. Instead, he asked about the other activities the school offered. Turns out, Dom was only involved in soccer and basketball, which were sports that Arthur could not play and was not interested in.

The class ended with an awkward farewell from Arthur's part and a "_see you at lunch_" from Dom. Nevertheless, he walked to his next class with full confidence.

By time gym rolled around, he walked around the perimeter of the gymnasium (considering that he wasn't interested in playing tennis or basketball) with Ariadne. She chatted with him lively about her English class, and he actually found himself listening. According to her words, the junior English class was reading _Romeo and Juliet_, and she was dubbed the part of the Nurse. At one point, she mentioned that Dom would make a better Romeo than someone named Timothy. To that, Arthur silently agreed, but he didn't think of the male as a type to play a character that was completely blinded by love. He passed it off as a mere opinion, seeing that Ariadne obviously knew Dom longer and better than him.

It wasn't long until lunch arrived. The smell of pizza and hamburgers was absolutely foul compared to what Arthur usually ate. So, as he went through the line behind Ariadne (who helped herself to a slice pizza and yogurt), Arthur only grabbed a banana, seeing that seemed to be the only suitable item there without grease, was clean, and did not contain sugar. Ariadne, when seeing this, offered him her portion of the lunch, but he immediately turned it down while making a mental note to bring lunch every day.

As he glanced around for a place to sit with Ariadne, he noticed Dom sitting among a few other students that looked as if they were on the soccer team. He was about to notify the female on his left about the empty seats there, but she was already stepping in that direction. Silently, Arthur followed her and seated himself diagonally from Dom, who greeted him with a warm smile.

He was then introduced to Timothy (he really didn't seem like a Romeo), Cheyenne (apparently Juliet), Mal (a tennis player), Tadashi, Lorenzo, and Houston (a few of the many soccer players). Arthur's first interpretation of the group was that Timothy was cocky, Tadashi was the know-it-all, Cheyenne was stuck up, Houston and Lorenzo were partners in crime and equally perverted, and Mal was much like Ariadne, but was more outspoken.

Nonetheless, Arthur didn't pay much attention to them unless they contributed something about him that pertained to the current conversation.

Other than that, he ate ate his banana while listening to Cheyenne blabber endlessly about her given role in reading. Half way through her speech, or whatever she was making, really, Houston—if that was even his name— pointed to Arthur and promptly said that he was eating a banana.

Arthur gave him a pointed look that clearly said "_no shit, Sherlock_" while a few others snickered.

That was when the whole conversation with him as the main topic started. He was asked simple questions along the lines of if he was gay or not, and how many boys had he blown, and so on. To those, Arthur felt his cheeks heat up. Though he was reluctant to answer, he passed the replies off with quick and short words. _No_, he was not gay. And he had blown _no one_. But of course, being the immature idiots that Arthur already assumed they were, Lorenzo and Houston continued to snicker and list off more questions.

Luckily, Ariadne stepped in for him right then and there, and Arthur felt forever grateful for that. He felt uncomfortable about the subject, seeing that the half of the answers he had given himself was what his parents wanted. He wasn't exactly the straightest character, since pretty boys (like Dom) were always snagging his attention. As for sexual intercourse, his answer remained honest (thankfully).

Arthur frowned at the thought before dawning back on what Houston was saying. It just so happened that the other was snickering over the fact that he was eating a banana. _Was_. He finished the banana a few minutes ago. And truthfully, he saw nothing wrong with that. They then moved to the point where they began teasing him with flirtatious actions and cheesy pick-up lines. Dom stepped in this time before Arthur could have a piece of the situation.

"Come on, Cobb. We're just joking," one of the two replied, patting the blond male.

"Unless you—" the other one started, but Mal chose that moment to cut in.

"That's enough, boys. Mind your own business."

Arthur had found temporary respect in the tennis player right then and there. That was, until lunch was over and she pulled him aside from the rest of the eavesdropping students.

"Sorry for Renzo's and Houston's behavior. They don't mean harm, really."

Arthur blinked at her, then said bluntly, "I'm not gay."

And she laughed at that while patting him on the shoulder. "Whatever you say, kiddo."

Had he been that obvious? He watched, his mouth gaping, as Mal walked away. He didn't think that he was obvious. She must have sharp eyes, then. In that case, he needed to stop eying Dom all together.

Clamping his mouth shut, Arthur hurried to his next class.

The rest of school day went by slowly. His last class, which was History and shared with Ariadne and Tadashi, was far entertaining.

For a short amount of time, he had forgotten the incident back at lunch. Yet, as he was walking back towards his car, he felt an arm sling around his shoulder. It was Houston, and on his other side was Lorenzo. Arthur immediately tensed and halted in his step. He shrugged the arm off and stepped away. As he was about to say something, the two started.

"We didn't mean to offend you or anything. We don't mind gays," Lorenzo began with a soft grin.

Arthur's eyes narrowed on them. "I am not—"

The two boys looked at each other before saying "_denial_" in unison.

Arthur scowled. "If you have no further business with me, then I will take my leave, thank you."

He ignored the snorting and laughing in the background as he turned and headed to his vehicle. When he got into the car, strapped himself in, and locked the doors, Arthur watched the two friends joke with each other. After a few seconds, he rolled his eyes and pulled out of the lot.

The drive home consisted of nothing but how the first day of school played out. It wasn't until he stepped into his room did he get a scare.

"How was your day?"

He had nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of Eames' voice. He had forgotten about the other man throughout the whole day, which was surprising, considering that that was most of his worries for the past few days. It seemed that all of today was about repeating that he wasn't homosexual countless of times. And at that thought, Arthur's mouth curved into a frown again as he dropped the keys on his desk and flopped onto his bed. Off to the side, Eames was speaking again.

"Are you alright, darling? Did something happen?"

To that, Arthur merely glared at the other. "I loathe your sort of people."

Eames blinked at him. "Pardon?"

"People who tease," he hissed, "and won't shut up."

Eames answered him a moment later. "My bad. Didn't think it upset you. Maybe if you asked, I would have stopped teasing earlier, but from looks of it, I'm not to blame. What happened at school?"

Arthur's forehead met the bed once more at the sound of the question. He didn't want to talk about it, but he needed to complain and get it out of his system. Rolling on his back, he allowed his eyes to feast on the ceiling before opening his mouth to begin.

"I'm being suspected of being homosexual."

The answer from Eames came quickly. "Are you?"

It was the same question he had been asked various of times, and he hated it. So instead of answering, Arthur threw another glare in the mirror's direction.

The man quickly began again. "I don't have a problem with them, trust me. I learned my lesson."

The young teen ignored the comment and turned away from the mirror. "Leave me alone," he mumbled, squeezing his eyes close and taking in deep breaths.

He tried to clear his head of the events that happened earlier, but he couldn't help but allow them to linger; he knew, from watching other kids in his private school, that preferring the same sex would lead to bullying and harassment. Though Lorenzo and Houston posed no threats _yet_, Arthur still felt uncomfortable around them. If he started to get bullied— no; he wasn't one to be bullied. If that time came along, he would just need to defend himself with whatever was avaliable.

"That's it?"

At the sound of the Englishman's voice, Arthur's brows furrowed. He proceeded not to answer, and in return, Eames began pestering him with advice.

"Just ignore them, darling, and try not to think about it too much. What else happened?"

Aside from that situation alone, nothing else happened that was an interesting conversational topic. That was, if he were to exclude meeting Dom for the first time. Yet, he didn't want to dwell on the thought of the other man, so he answered the man with a simple _'no'_.

When asked his classes, he replied in a murmur. To that, Eames laughed. Apparently Mr. Saito, his calculus teacher, was once the principal of the school. Arthur sniffed at the sound of that, but didn't make another comment. As Eames continued to fill him in on the teachers he had, Arthur slipped off the bed and strolled over to his closet. That was when Eames decided to ask why his clothes only consisted of neat clothing, aside from the occasional shorts, t-shirt, and sweatpants to the summer.

"It's neater," he responded, weighing his t-shirt and shorts in his hand along with the towel. And after gathering his boxers, Arthur turned his attention back to the man. "Do you mind?" he questioned irritably.

The other, who was recently staring at him in silence, jerked his sights from his lower half to his face. "My apologizes, love," he said with a light grin.

The dark brunet huffed before making his way towards the shower. As he stepped in and began washing his hair, thoughts began to stir. He still needed to get rid of the other; there was no telling if he was being watched through any of the mirrors as he passed them. That is, unless he felt the awkward chill that told him that someone had their eyes on him— that was the only exception.

Or maybe that was simply paranoia? It could be, but Arthur didn't want to take the chance and believe that he was simply paranoid about it— which meant that someone could be watching him at the moment. For that second, he suddenly became conscious of his surroundings. Just, _what if_ someone was watching? They would see everything. A man stuck in a mirror or not, they could still be outside, waiting for him to drag the curtains open in order to grab his clothes ...

He simply shoved that thought aside and turned off the shower. After drying and dressing him, he returned to his room to toss his clothes into the basket sitting underneath his shirts. He then reverted his steps in order to look in the mirror; again, Eames was gone. Why the man was gone at various times of the day made Arthur wonder, but nevertheless, he didn't ponder over that for long; Eames always came back anyways.

No longer lingering on that, the dark brunet grabbed his backpack before withdrawing a folder that contained papers that he and his parents needed to go over and sign. Of course, Arthur had already read the contents; it was simply a repeat of the handbooks, procedures, and etc. for each class. He grabbed a pen and signed his name in the given places. After that, he straightened up and headed out to seek his father. That didn't turn out well; his father was apparently out looking for a job.

Arthur contemplated whether or not to wait for his fatherly figure to get home, or to get it over with and have his mother, who was lounging in the chair, watching television (though, he knew that she wasn't in taking anything considering that her gaze would constantly flick in his direction), sign it.

In the end, he gave up and walked over. "Do you have a moment, mother?"

She glanced up at him and shook her head while patting the spot next to her.

Intensively, Arthur sat and handed the papers and pen over. "Standard class procedures and whatnot," he informed bluntly, though she already started signing them without reading them beforehand.

Feeling the awkward atmosphere reach him, he glanced to the TV screen and tried to understand what was going on. Whatever it was, it seemed like drama comedy, considering that the blonde woman was screaming about being pregnant or something along those lines. Arthur, irritated by this already, turned back to watch his mother sign the papers.

As she handed them and the pen back, he stood. Only a second later did she attempt conversation: "How was school?"

He could tell her everything that he told Eames, but unlike Eames, Arthur knew that she would end up telling her father, which would lead to questioning and getting the school officials involved, which, in all terms, would make him look weak and pathetic.

"Fine," he answered.

He allowed his gaze to linger, seeing that his mother seemed as if she wanted to say something else. But in the end, she merely said that that was "_good_" before turning her attention to the screen. Arthur took this as a cue to leave, and so he did.

He made his way back to his bedroom in order to tuck the papers back into his folder.

Moments proceeding that was a greeting from the Englishman. "You okay?"

Arthur blinked in the mirror's direction, but nodded, nonetheless. Was he masking a face of disappointment or something? He didn't think so, but Eames was eying him in a manner that told Arthur that he didn't believe the answer. The teen turned away and ignored the man. As he shuffled through his backpack, Eames started to talk again.

"There's nothing wrong with being g—"

Arthur cut him off before he could finish. "That's coming from a person who taunted them. And I'm not."

He glared at the man, but Eames remained unfazed. "I said I learned my lesson. And that's hard to believe; I've yet to see a bloke who is as neat as you, organizing-wise."

The last statement seemed like a challenge, as if Eames expected him to prove him wrong. Arthur didn't comply to that. Instead, he folded his arms across his chest and continued to meet the other's amused gaze with his cold glare.

"Not all men are messy. And I doubt that—"

"Now, please use your head a bit more, love. If I were not to learn my lesson, then I wouldn't have asked you for a kiss, hm?"

For a moment, Arthur couldn't conjure anything up to comeback with that, which brought a triumph grin onto the man's face. He ignored the amusement, though and piped up his side of the petty argument. "You could have been taunting me, like you did to the—"

"I assure you it's far from that, Iz—"

"Arthur," he corrected briskly. "My name is Arthur."

"But you said— never mind that, Arthur. As I was saying, it's not like that. I'm attracted to you. I think you can help me get out of the mirror."

To that, Arthur scoffed. "And I assure you, Mr. Eames, that your logic and devious plan will not go through."

Eames fell silent for a bit, which allowed Arthur to gather his composure. He shifted and dropped his arms to his side. Eames, on the other hand, was ranging from sighing to rubbing his temples. A second later, he spoke.

"I just want to get out of here," he muttered. "I don't care who I fall in love with or whatever; I just want to get out of this bloody mirror."

The blue-green eyes peered up and in his direction once more. "It shouldn't be that hard to fall for each other, right? If we're meant to be—"

All this fairy tale talk was getting to him. The corner of his mouth twitched in disapproval.

"This is reality, not a fairy tale," Arthur stated bluntly.

Eames frowned faintly. "How else do you think could break this spell?"

"Break the mirror? You haven't tried—"

"Definitely not," Eames replied coldly. "Nash said I won't be free until I learn heartbreak and love."

Arthur quirked a brow. "He could be lying. What about the female you fell for and had your heart broken by?"

Eames chewed on his bottom lip before gazing away. Arthur noticed a flicker of utter disappointment that ran across the Englishman's eyes as he mentioned the female. He thought the man was about to cry, but thankfully, he was proven wrong.

Eames turned back to him. "I'm not completely sure. She didn't kiss me ... I think I need a kiss too."

Hope crossed the man's eyes, but Arthur waved it aside as nothing.

"This is just—"

"—ridiculous," Eames finished, "I know. But it's about the only thing I can believe in."

Arthur fell silent for the given moment and simply inspected the other man. Eames had been stuck in the mirror for many years; there was no telling that the other wasn't simply making this up. But then again, Arthur asked himself a similar question: how else would it be possible for a man to be in the mirror and dutifully responding to each of his words?

The man heaved a sigh. "We can create our own fairy tale with fake love," he suggested.

Arthur was threatened to roll his eyes, but he refrained himself from doing so. "I don't want to be a part of your fairy tale."

The Englishman met his gaze. "You can see me; therefore, you don't have a choice."

The comeback of '_not if I throw the covers over you' _danced across Arthur's mind, but he repeated nothing of it.

"Really, darling, it won't be that bad. You see reluctant to fall in love with me ... unless you already have."

At that Arthur snapped back to attention; his expression made the opposing figure chuckle.

"It could possibly work. If I'm capable of falling in love with you, and you feel nothing back, then my heart would be broken. Then you kiss me to make it all better. And then I'll be free. We'll live happily ever after."

Arthur snorted lightly at the sound of Eames' version of a classic fairy tale. "No, thank you."

"Oh, come on. All you have to do is peck me— the mirror— on the lips. Besides, I haven't showered in six or something years."

The corner of Arthur's mouth twitched at the sound of that.

"I don't smell, though. Or at least, I don't think I— that doesn't matter. I just want to get out. Can't you just help out a poor bloke?"

That was when Eames stuck out his bottom lip slightly and pouted. And for that fleeting moment, all Arthur could think about was how cute the Englishman looked, but once discovering his thoughts, he immediately waved it off.

"What do I get out of it?" he questioned.

Eames immediately lit up. "That means you're agreeing—"

"I asked a question."

"Oh. Well. You'll lose your first kiss, if you hadn't already."

Arthur had never kissed anyone before, and truthfully, he didn't plan to (though, a small part of him _hoped_ to), unless it was D— no. _No. _He willed away the thought and focused on the current situation.

"No."

Eames huffed. "I'll stop pestering you for the time being."

Arthur actually liked that offer, but— "We'll see."

Eames grinned. "That's a yes, isn't it?"

"No."

The Englishman folded his arms across his chest.

Arthur turned away. "It's a maybe. For now, be quiet. I have homework."

There was a sound of soft laughter. "Alright, love."

And there was complete silence in his room after that.


	4. Chapter 4

**Warning;** alternate universe, supernatural, teen & dramatic! Arthur, bullying, etc.

**Disclaimer;** if only, ohoho ~

**Author's Notes;** I feel as if Arthur and Eames are _really_ out of character, and I apologize for that. But this is somewhat going to be their personality throughout. Since they're younger, I made them less "professional", meaning Arthur would bePMSingalot— I mean, get ticked off more often, and Eames would be more flirtatious. I hope I didn't go _too_ out of character, though. And this chapter— it's not my best. I'm having trouble trying to write the entire story, since I already have the middle towards end mapped up in my head. It's just this part to the middle of the fic— asdfghjkl— that's why it seemed rushed and all. I'm trying to slow down and add more ... stuff, though. So bare with me ~ And oh! I'm also writing an oneshot. It should be up in a couple of days! Annnd reviews are loved, dearies ~ c:

* * *

For the next few days, Arthur didn't sense or see Eames' presence. Once again, he found himself wondering what happened to the other man, but seeing that even thinking about that jinxed it completely, he left it alone. Besides, he was the one that told the Englishman to be quiet. He seemed to have complied to that, which wasn't a problem by the young teen.

School had been fair as well; he felt easier talking to Ariadne and Dom. Though Lorenzo and Houston still teased him, he began to ignore their playful remarks. Or, at least, it was avoidable until they started briefly touching him. A simple hand on his back, an arm around his shoulders, or a mere bump of their elbows made Arthur cringe. He, of course, threatened them by saying that he would set thier pants on fire if they don't stop their touches. They laughed it off as nothing, though.

For another day, everything seemed alright and back in order. It was only Friday when he received a real shove. He was walking with Ariadne to the student parking lot. She was chatting lively about the last customer at the cafe she had. It was only then that his eyes landed on his car. The once nice appearance of his vehicle was now flaunting the word _'queer'. _

He stopped in his tracks, his mouth falling open at the sight of the ketchup and mustard (or, at least, that's what it looked like) that formed the words. Beside him, Ariadne had halted in her words as well to take in the sight.

For a moment, the wind was knocked out of Arthur; his body entirely froze as he stared at his treasured automobile in horror. Who would do something as crude as this? His thought immediately ran to Lorenzo and Houston, but he knew that they had detention today, since they both had complained about it for days.

As he was still recovering from shock, Ariadne shifted towards the car. "Ketchup and mustard," she announced, turning to him with her nose scrunched up. "Who would do something like this?"

The ice broke, and he began to flush.

"I don't know," he gritted out, eyes fiery at the sight of this.

He trembled slightly from the anger that broke free inside of him. It was only because he was out in public, trying not to cast a bad impression, that he didn't start yelling at random pass-byers.

Instead, he paced forward and examined his car closer. Some of the ketchup and mustard were dripping onto his car. It cast an awful smell, but that wasn't worst than the fact that it formed a dreaded word on his window— where he needed to look through to make sure he wasn't hitting anyone.

His fists clenched as his nails dug into his palm. He was shaking from bitter anger. Tears began threatening him, but he fought against them (and luckily, he won). He didn't want to look pathetic in front of those who were watching. That would only make him an easier target with no means of defense.

"Um. I'll go tell the principal, if you want. And grab a few papers towels," came a voice to his right.

Arthur gave a jerky nod and listened to her run off. This left him alone, giving him time to look for any clues that might help him locate the person behind this; it also made him vulnerable to the culprit since he was standing around, trying to make sense of why this happened to him and no other car.

It then dawned down on him; it was Lorenzo's and Houston's fault because of their comments and constant teasing. At that conclusion, his jaw clenched. He was definitely going to murder them right after he murdered whoever committed something as profane as this—

"Here—"

Arthur glanced over at Ariadne, who was holding a few wet paper towels in her hands. She handed a few to him before setting down on wiping the mess from his window.

"The principal said that he'll make sure whoever did this is caught."

He didn't respond to that but nodded, nonetheless, in approval.

It wasn't long until his window was clean. By now, his shaken self had calmed down a few notches. He quickly thanked Ariadne for the help before getting into his vehicle and driving away. The moment he got home, he washed the car via garden hose. Half-way through his task, his mother decided to greet him with a question in which he did not know how to answer without creating a scene of some sort.

"What happened?"

"Dirt." His answer was quipped and obviously a lie, and because of this, he refused to gaze in her direction.

"Dirt?" she repeated. "Oh. Okay. You have mail, by the way. I put it on the counter." With that, she left.

Arthur sighed and finished rinsing the vehicle. As he dismissed himself from the outdoors, he went inside the house and grabbed the letter. There wasn't a return address or a stamp. It was just addressed to him. Quirking a brow, Arthur opened it as he made his way to his bedroom. He pulled out the folded notebook paper as he stepped into the room and dropped his backpack to the floor. Putting the envelope aside, he opened the piece of paper.

It wasn't a letter at all. Instead of something he expected from Fischer, it was a drawn picture of what appeared to be a man's genitals. Underneath it were the words '_you like that, don't you? QUEER'_.

He stared at the words, not believing the entire thing— he had been here in this town for less than a month, and at school for just a week. How did they know where he lived? Or which car was his? It was apparent that someone was stalking him, but at the moment, Arthur could really care less about that. All that was on his mind was what was on the note and how ridiculous this whole thing was.

He found himself rereading the words a hundred more times before crumpling the paper up and throwing it at the wall next to the mirror. It was just then did he notice Eames there, staring at him.

"Stop that!" Arthur hissed while desperately trying to fight the tears that welled up in his eyes. "You did this, didn't—"

"Now, now, darling. Don't make assumptions. I don't even know what was on that."

Arthur didn't stand to listen. He turned sharply and slammed the door in order to trap most of the sounds he was making out of his tantrum. With that done, he began pacing around in attempt to calm himself; unfortunately, it just made him quiver more. Therefore, when Eames started speaking again, Arthur was more than furious when telling him to shut up.

"Calm down—"

"This can not— do they know who they're messing with?"

"Arthur—"

"Be quiet! You probably played a part—"

"I'm in a mirror, dear. I won't be able to—"

Arthur halted in his step and glared in the mirror's direction.

"Tell me what happened. If anything, I'm trying to help," Eames stated coolly.

Arthur inhaled and exhaled a couple of times. His eyes closed as he looked down. For a moment, he tried regaining his composure. A few minutes later, he peered back up in Eames' direction.

"My car was vandalized. I'm being harassed— I want to leave—"

"For what reason?"

Arthur glowered for a couple of seconds before uttering his answer.

"Some assholes wrote _'queer' _with ketchup and mustard on my car. The letter—"

He cut himself short and exhaled again. He shook the thought away quickly and gave Eames room to interpret. Luckily, the other seemed to have caught on.

"Oh. I ... see. Ignore it. They don't have lives. Don't let words bother you."

Arthur gave a choppy nod, but a second later, he turned against the advice.

"It's on my car. In the mailbox. Imagine what else they would do—"

"Don't assume the worst, pet. Report the incidents. I'm sure it's nothing worth getting worked up about."

Stubbornly, the young teen folded his arms across his chest while throwing the other man a look.

"It's hard to ignore something— whoever did this needs to be disciplined!"

"Listen to me. Ignore it. I've done worst. Be happy that what I use to do isn't as bad as what happened to you."

Arthur wanted to throw something else, preferably a punch, but the thought of breaking his arms over this was stupid, so he settled with a glare.

"What if it gets worse?"

"It won't," soothed Eames. "If you find out who did this, then you should be able to report it. It'll be stopped, mm?"

Arthur didn't trust the last few words, but he already made plans to report whoever did this, or, nevertheless, take the matters into his own hands.

"Breathe, darling."

At the sound of the pet name, Arthur turned his cold look to the man again.

Eames held up both of his hands as if to surrender. "Just trying to help."

He tore his sights away and moved towards his closet.

The other did not utter another word as he proceeded to gather his clothes and towel for another shower. By time he stepped out, refreshed, and having the thought that the harassment that he had to dealt with today was nothing but idiotic (and should be reported, nonetheless), Arthur was feeling much better.

At dinner with both his parental figures, his good feeling started to flicker the moment his mother began the discussion with a question that his father soon became curious with.

"Were you arguing with someone?"

Arthur froze, his fork lingering over the pasta at the sound of the question. He knew that his voice didn't project when he was throwing his tantrum— or at least, not project as much, but he supposed he _did_ raise his voice on some occasions. Did that mean that she heard Eames as well? (Not that that would really matter, since that would trigger her attention and might have the effect of moving.) Eames didn't raise his voice, so that wasn't a possibility.

"Another spat with Fischer Jr.?" His father pitched in.

Arthur nodded slightly.

While his fatherly figure continued to go on and on about Fischer Jr.'s and his dad's relationship, his mother caught his eye. Arthur knew that she suspected something, but he didn't bother to allow her to ask it.

When he was finished with dinner, he stood up and turned the dish into the sink. After informing his parents that he had homework, the young teen returned to his room.

He closed the door behind him and settled on his bed with his Calculus book set aside. Beside him, Eames was, once again, pestering him by watching. At one point, Arthur glanced over and asked him to disappear. He didn't see Eames again until Saturday afternoon when he returned from his visit to the cafe.

Their exchange was brief and quite mature, much to Arthur's liking (somewhat). Eames simply asked how he was, and he replied that he was content before repeating the same question to him. And of course, he received a cheesy response; "Better now, since you're here." A wink followed that.

He ignored the flirtatious gesture and continued his day in an okay manner.

On Monday morning, Arthur was rather hesitant as he moved around his room to get ready. He didn't feel as if he should go to school, but he quickly squashed the fear down; what was the worst that could happen? He doubted that anyone could get away with slashing his tires or something. Holding onto a positive thought, the young teen picked up his backpack and slung it over his shoulder.

Before he stepped out the door, though, Eames' voice caught his attention. "Kick their arses for me, will you, darling?"

Arthur didn't turn back to acknowledge the comment, but he did allow his lips to curve into a small smile at the sound of the advice. For once, Eames actually said something worthwhile.

Still holding onto his confidence, he proceeded to drive to school. After successfully parking and making sure that the vehicle was locked, he advanced onto his given locker.

So far, nothing seemed out of order; Cobb, walking by to his first period, waved at him. Mal called out a greeting when they passed each other, and Houston yanked him back by the back of his shirt (Arthur hated this, because it untucked his shirt; he also loathed it because Houston would mess up his hair as well before laughing and properly greeting him). As he stepped into his first period class, Ariadne waved him over and immediately questioned him about one of the homework questions.

The day went on without a bother, which only made Arthur a bit anxious; he was expecting some sort of horrid thing to happen to his car, which he couldn't keep an eye on due to the fact that the student parking lot wasn't near any of his classes. When the bell for his last class rung, Arthur sprung out of his seat, gathered his items, and ushered out of the room.

As he went to put his Government textbook up, he halted. His entire body simply froze over at the sight of his locker.

In black ink, the word _'GAY' _was written vertically on the locker next to his. Underneath the _Y_ was an arrow that pointed to his locker. The mistake the harasser apparently made (he wrote on the wrong locker) would have been humorous and ignored if the arrow wasn't pointed to his own.

Returning to reality, Arthur glanced around. No one looked his way or was laughing. Ariadne was waiting for him outside. Dom was at practice— there wasn't anyone to show this to without being embarrassed first.

His gaze returned to the lockers just in time to see that Tadashi was unlocking the one next to his— the one that was vandalized. Arthur mentally slapped himself for forgetting that the other man had a locker next to his own. Nevertheless, he walked forward and watched the dark-haired male.

"How can you just ignore that?" he asked, his brows furrowing.

The junior managed a feeble shrug as he drew books from his locker.

"I've been bullied since junior high. I just ignore it. Besides, it was pointed to your locker."

The corner of Arthur's mouth twitched, but nonetheless, he minded his own business and opened his locker. After extracting the books needed for homework, he locked up the space and walked towards the school's exit. He was greeted by Ariadne with "_you took a long time_", but with her smile, he acknowledged the fact that she wasn't angry.

"Just got caught up with something," he responded, making his way to his car. "Someone wrote ... something vulgar on Tadashi's locker and drew an arrow pointing at mine."

Ariadne blinked. "The school cameras should have caught it," she quipped. "I wonder who's doing this."

Arthur nodded slightly; he too was wondering who the hell was behind this.

After bidding the female a farewell, he examined his car. It didn't look ruined in any way. Generally glad about this, he got in and drove home.

On the trip home, he began thinking about the situation; there wasn't a doubt that whoever was doing this was from his school (considering that there was no way for outsiders to get in and know which one was his). Also, whoever did it was close to the parking lot, unless they were skipping class. But surely, there were security cameras around, like Ariadne said? The whole thing must have been seen by someone.

Arthur shook the thoughts out of his head as he parked in front of his house. After passing a greeting to his mother, he ushered into his room.

Eames wasn't present, which made him slightly disappointed since he didn't have someone to complain to. When dawning down on the thought that he actually _expected_ the Englishman's presence, he scoffed and began on his homework.

Just thirty minutes later, he shuffled the items back into his backpack while thinking that the homework was completely easy. It was only then that Eames greeted him.

"Algebra I homework took me two hours once. I gave up in the end. Too much memorization."

Arthur gave a soft snort. "Algebra I was easy," he commented.

Eames tilted his chin up slightly. "I'm not the sharpest crayon in the box, darling."

"Arthur," the young teen corrected.

Eames quirked his brow and responded with "_Eames_."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "My name is Arthur."

"Is it!" the Englishman exclaimed. "Who would've know? Yes, I'm aware that that is your name, dear."

Arthur's eyes narrowed. "I don't like pet names."

"Such a shame; I adore pet names, especially when I use them on you. Did you know that every time I were to call you _'darling'_, your mouth would twitch?"

At the mention of that, the corner of his mouth twitched, and Eames broke into a grin.

From that point on, he tried to ignore the other. It was only five minutes later did he find himself replying to the man's question.

"Assuming from your silence and calmness, I'm thinking that they didn't bother you today?"

"They wrote something profane on the locker next to mine and drew an arrow."

The Englishman lifted a brow. "I see. You're not angry?"

Arthur huffed. "I'm dealing with it. It's nothing to get worked up over, like you said."

The last part came in murmur to shield the fact that he had taken Eames' advice, after all. It wasn't intentional; he just found that, yes, it was ridiculous that he was making such a big deal out of someone writing a vulgar word on his windshield with ketchup and mustard. It was better than getting his tires slashed, and that was for sure.

"Good to hear that you're listening."

Arthur ignored the smirk that passed the man's lips and cut the conversation there.

* * *

The next day proved to be as fair as the one before, but this time, Arthur was more cautious and observant. Throughout the day, he made a possible list on who it could be. When he voiced his situation at the lunch table, he added another to his list.

"Someone's vandalizing me."

Timothy lifted his head and scoffed. "I'm not surprised. Someone needed to point out the queers."

From that statement onward, Arthur was nearly positive that Timothy was behind it, and if not, then he had something to do with it. He voiced this suspicion to Eames, who couldn't agree more with him.

The next day, Timothy and Cheyenne sat away from the group, which cued Lorenzo's whining (he liked Cheyenne's presence). Arthur didn't find that it was a problem; he was perfectly content with group consisting of himself, Dom, Ariadne, Mal, Tadashi, Lorenzo, and Houston. Though, there was a continuous odd atmosphere that lingered between them during a few times. Mal later informed him that Dom felt slightly uncomfortable. To that, Arthur merely pressed the point that he was straight. It didn't do much, but at least now, Dom was talking more to him.

It wasn't until Thursday that the next bullying action happened. He walked beside Ariadne when he was suddenly shoved into the locker.

"Queer!" A male's voice called out a second later.

Arthur tried to ignore that as well, but anger was beginning to build up inside him. It wasn't because he was hurt— being shoved into the lockers didn't hurt at all; it just took the breath out of him. After answering Ariadne's '_are you alright_?' question with a stiff _'fine'_, he turned his gaze in the direction he saw the boy that shoved him walk in. The face wasn't familiar, but according to Ariadne, it was one of the soccer players.

When he approached the principal with this, the elder man merely said that he would give punishment to whoever did it before shooing him off. For nearly an hour that night, the young teen found himself venting to Eames, who gave him the advice to pay Dom's soccer team a visit during their practice.

That was exactly what he did Friday afternoon, after school.

After telling Ariadne that he was going to pay Dom a visit, he made his way over to the soccer field. The team was lingering about and chatting when he arrived.

He was about to make an announcement of his arrival, but unfortunately, the one that pushed him the previous day caught sight of him first.

"Looky here. Queer's here. To what may I be an assistance to?"

The boy, who was rather attractive, mind you, sauntered forward. When his personal space was invaded, Arthur raised his hands and shoved the other back.

"You're pathetic," he spat, but before he could make a long speech about how idiotic the action was from yesterday, Dom dismissed himself from the crowd.

"Is something wrong?"

Arthur took a look at the blond before turning his glare to the other boy. "This asshole pushed me into the locker," he stated.

"I'm sure you liked having my hands on you."

"Fu—"

"Adrian, Arthur, stop it."

Dom put a hand on the soccer player's shoulder and lightly pushed him back into the crowd of boys.

Adrian grinned. "No, I want to hear what Queer has to say."

Arthur felt like a kid standing there, completely embarrassed, but he didn't allow it to go further.

"Grow up," he hissed.

Dom removed the hand from Adrian's shoulder grabbed Arthur's arm.

The last thing he saw and heard before Dom dragged him away was the male laughing. Now, he was being confronted by the blond male.

"Look, Arthur. I apologize for whatever he did. He didn't mean it—"

"He shoved me against a locker," the dark brunet began to protest.

"Report him— but um, it would be helpful if you don't report him this or next week. He's one of the beat players, and our first game is next Saturday."

Arthur stared while his mind raced with the question '_are you serious_?'

In the end, though, he gave in after Dom promised to talk to Adrian about it.

Arthur left the practice field and returned home in a ticked and unsatisfied manner (which Eames obviously made worse).

* * *

The next week gradually got worse.

It wasn't the soccer team that gave him trouble, but the calls of '_Gay! Queer!' _down the hall that made his day not worth going through. Much to his fortune, though, Ariadne, Mal, and on a few occasions, Dom, helped him out.

On Wednesday, he reported the bullying to the principal (who claimed to already put Adrian and a couple of others in detention) again. After a brief promise to address this to the student body, the elder dismissed him.

Thursday, no order was in play.

Arthur had to catch a ride from Ariadne because someone had apparently spray painted his window, making it impossible to see. It was only then did he tell his parents about what was going on. For the next few minutes, he heard his father yelling into the phone as he sat in his bedroom, Eames constantly pestering him to tell. When he did, the Englishman gave another piece of advice: "Take matters into your own hands. Punch him."

Arthur didn't think he was going to comply, because he knew what the consequences were, but Friday morning called for it.

Timothy yelled out _'faggot_!' during the switch between first and second period.

Arthur just turned to Ariadne, told her to hold his backpack before chasing said male. He grabbed Timothy by his hood and shoved him into the wall.

Immediately, everything seemed to freeze; everyone stopped, and moments later, chants of '_fight! fight_!' echoed throughout.

Timothy shoved him off, a scowl on his face.

"Stop touching me, cocksucker."

That was _it._

Arthur took the first punch and they somehow ended up on the floor before being split apart by a teacher. After being forced to apologize and given three days of suspension, the two were released. His parents, who were called up to discuss the situation, were not impressed at all. Arthur swore he had the longest lecture of his life before he was free to go into his room.

"You're home early. What was your dad yelling about?"

That was his greeting, courtesy of Eames.

Arthur slammed the door close ("watch your temper, Arthur!" his father yelled) and turned his glare to the other.

"I punched him and got three days of suspension."

Eames blinked at him. "Oh ... didn't think you would comply to my advice. Are you ... are you okay?"

Arthur seated himself on the bed and lightly brushed his fingers along his bruised cheek.

"I'm fine. This is not going to look good on my record, though," he murmured.

"Look on the bright side, darling. You get to talk to me—"

Arthur grabbed a pen and hurled it in the mirror's direction.

"Bloody hell! Love you too, Arthur— give me a warning at least!"

After shooting another death glare in the man's direction, Arthur flopped down on the bed and began dwelling on his mistake while blaming it solely on Eames for suggesting it.

This was definitely one of the reasons why he hated public schools.


	5. Chapter 5

**Warning;** alternate universe, supernatural, teen & a bit dirty minded! Arthur, hinting ats, LOLKIDSGAMES

**Disclaimer;** if only, ohoho ~

**Author's Notes;** I was torn between whether Arthur would have a dirty mind or not. In character, he wouldn't ... really, but ffffffuuuuu— you can't really hold a long, non-sexual conversation with Eames. Anyways, hope you enjoy this one. It's sort of a relaxed chapter! :3 andthankyouforthereviews,darlings ~ And oh, dark brunet refers to Arthur while light brunet refers to Eames— just clearing that up.

* * *

His father had the courtesy to, for the first time ever, strip him from his freedom. His car keys, cellphone, and his treasured laptop was taken away from him, which literally caused him to throw a tantrum. But of course, he didn't argue back. Arthur accepted the punishment for his actions without much regret.

On the other hand, his mother _had_ pulled him aside and asked him what caused the fight. Once more, he found himself lying for obvious and stupid reasons, but seeing that there was no way taking it back, he left it at that. After drawing away from his mother and ignoring the disapproving look from his father, Arthur retired to his bedroom where he, like before, shut the door.

He had completed his homework in the morning, and now, he had nearly seven more hours to himself. Books entertained him for nearly an hour, but seeing that they were ones he already read, they didn't perk his interest much. So, for once, he was actually glad that he had a man in a mirror, no matter how creepy it was.

Eames was irritating as usual, but over the time, Arthur waved the small teasing and flirtatious gestures off as barely nothing. Conversations seemed to flow easier between the two, since it involved how to get back at the bullies (the young teen wasn't all that interested, but hey, hearing Eames' wild imagination of revenge was rather interesting).

When the clock stroke nine, Arthur climbed into bed, fresh from the shower and ready to fall to slumber. Yet, Eames was continuously speaking to him, and all Arthur could do was reply (it was common courtesy, after all).

At ten, Arthur turned away from the mirror with a small smile on his lips. Eames bid him a good night, and soon, the dark brunet fell into a blissful sleep while thinking that being stripped from his belongings wasn't _that_ bad.

— **ox — xo —**

Arthur woke up Sunday morning to the sound of silence, which isn't particularly odd, but nonetheless, it made him curious of the time. After seeing that it was seven, he rose from his bed and promptly hobbled his way to his door and peered out. The sun's light allowed him to see around, and from the looks of it, his parents weren't up yet. Waving it off as nothing, he made his way to the bathroom and settled on getting ready. Once presentable, he returned to his room.

"Morning," came a drowsy voice to his left.

And again, Arthur, who still hadn't gotten use to the voice piping up at random times, felt his body freeze over. It was only for a split second, since he soon realized that it was Eames. At that, he threw the mirror a dissatisfied look.

"Stop that."

The Englishman's lips curved into a small smirk. "Why? Did I manage to frighten you again?My apologies, darling."

The dark brunet scowled, but chose not to reply to that. Eames seemed to have ignored the fact that Arthur didn't answer, since he continued speaking a couple of seconds later.

"Have you given thought to egging Timothy's house? Or toilet papering his car?"

The tension began ceasing there as Arthur managed a feeble shrug. "That would be too much work, and, I would need to spend money on the toilet paper and eggs. Mother won't be pleased when she wakes up one more and find both of our stocks out."

"How about writing something on his car or locker? You can always use the ketchup packets from lunch," the other pressed.

Arthur shook his head. "I don't need more suspension days. I already have three on my record. Why are you aimed on me getting revenge?" He quirked an amused brow at the other. "Is it because you enjoy my company? Or are you just fond of watching my failure?"

There was a hint of teasing within his question to which Eames caught.

"I do enjoy your company very much, pet—"

"Arthur."

"— Arthur," the Englishman tried again, but this time, purring out the name. This sent an odd shiver down the younger of the two's spine. "And I'm not keen on watching your step falter, love. It is hilarious, though, how much you make a big deal out of something so little."

At that, Arthur threw the other a glare.

"I mean no offense, though," Eames continued, flashing him a winning smile.

Arthur huffed before walking out of his bedroom, down the stairs, and into the kitchen. As he was making himself breakfast, his brown eyes took notice of a note posted on the refrigerator. Without much hesitation, he walked towards it and read the words scribbled down by his father.

"Out for the day. Will be home soon. Don't do anything reckless, and do not try to go anywhere," he murmured.

With a sigh, he ripped the note off from the fridge and threw it away. He wouldn't think of going anywhere anyways. He didn't have a car to drive him places; he couldn't call Ariadne, since his cellphone was taken, and he was sure that the home phone line was being monitored in some way. He didn't dare walk out either. The ones that victimized him knew where he lived, so he could get jumped. He could go out with a weapon, but then, he could get framed for attempt in murder or something along those lines. With a suspension on his record, he didn't want to jeopardize it anymore. Furthermore, he decided to stay inside and dwell on how boring the day would be. Then again, Eames provided him entertainment most of yesterday.

Arthur didn't want to highly depend on the Englishman (because hey, Eames was in a mirror— what if he suddenly disappeared?). If only he was allowed to go to the library; or, at the very least, invite Ariadne or Dom over so he would have some company. Everything was just relatively boring with the things that were taken from him.

Yet, he didn't want to dwell on those thoughts. After finishing his breakfast (which was far from his mother's usual eggs, bacon, and toast because Arthur can't cook worth his life), he headed back up to his bedroom.

"Eames," he addressed, which was a first, since the other was usually the first one to speak. Nevertheless, the Englishman didn't seem to bother with the fact that he had been greeted first.

"Hello again, pet. How was your breakfast?"

Arthur seated himself on his bed and faced said mirror. "Could have been better. I have a request."

"At least you get to eat something. Cooped up here, I don't even manage to eat anything. Strange, since I seem to be aging. It'll be my birthday soon." A cheeky grin passed on the light brunet's lips. "And what's your request?"

While lightly finger the sheet on his bed, Arthur spoke. "Because it was your suggestion, I have three days of suspension, a weekend, and am probably grounded for the rest of my life. Seeing that's the case, I think it's only fair that you entertain me until I'm ungrounded."

Eames quirked an eyebrow, then, a second later, he laughed. "Demanding, aren't you? Mm, I'll take you up on that request, since I'm not really given a choice. Besides, that means that I would have your attention."

Arthur sniffed and folded his arms across his chest while reflecting the raise of eyebrow. "Well?" he drawled, waiting for the other to start doing something that would be amusing.

Eames hummed to himself before noting Arthur's impatience. "Would you like to hear a song? A story? A joke? I have a few up my sleeves. Or are you content with me telling you how adorable you look this morning?"

Arthur narrowed his eyes slightly at the compliment, but he made no move to answer it. "Why do you disappear at various times?" he questioned, wanting to change the subject that was thoroughly embarrassing (he was not _adorable_, dammit; the only word that should describe him is _handsome_).

"I can't always stand in front of this mirror. I need to move around and lay down as well. I'd imagine that I would have back problems by now, but luckily, I haven't been struck by that curse."

Arthur allowed his arms to fall into his lap as he leaned forward slightly. "You have room to move around?"

"Just a bit; it's like a prison cell here— small, but manageable."

"What if you die in the mirror?"

Eames blinked at the sudden question. "I'm not sure if that's—"

"You said you were fourteen when this happened." Arthur shifted once more before continuing. "You don't look fourteen."

"I figured that I age without eating. Magic from the bastard, Nash, I suppose. ... Do I look presentable? Or do I look rubbish to you?"

Arthur glanced over the opposing male. "Save the fact that you look atrocious in the clothes you're wearing, I suppose you could be presentable. ... So, it _is_ possible that you can die."

"Well, I wouldn't fancy dying, and I doubt that would happen. I'm aimed on you, Arthur. I truly believe that you're the one."

Okay. Arthur didn't mean to bring the sappy fairy tale back into conversation— he didn't want to either, since it made him feel downright awkward.

Clearing his throat, he changed the subject once more. "Just a room?"

Eames nodded. "You would think that that bastard would've had the courtesy to at least include a bed, but no. Just a room."

No wonder there was a dark gray background behind Eames; it was the color of the room.

"Imagine being cooped up in here for years," the other murmured. "It's not the best experience. At least you have something to do _and_ a bed."

Arthur found himself laying down on his bed during those words. He felt pity for the Englishman, but what could he do? Nothing, at the moment.

"Aside from that," Eames said louder, a few seconds later, telling the young teen that he was changing the subject as well. "Have you ever been in love?"

Arthur decided that he hated this topic very much, but he answered, regardless. "No."

"Have you had a crush?"

His thought immediately ran to Dom, but he passed it off as nothing. "No," he repeated, frowning slightly.

"Will I be your first everything, then?"

Arthur jerked up in bed and glared at the man in the mirror. "This conversation is over."

"Alright, alright. Let's talk about ... your favorite food?"

Arthur gave him a pointed look.

"What? I'm not sure if you noticed this, dear, but you do cast off an unapproachable aura. Consider yourself lucky that I'm interested in you." The corners of the Englishman's mouth curved into a small smile. "Smile a little, won't you, darling?"

The smile didn't come upon the young teen's lips; instead, he continued to give the other a '_is this seriously how you're going to entertain me_?'

"Oh, stop being a stick in the mud, love. Alright, alright— let's try this. Why did the chicken cross the road?"

Arthur frowned. "That's not even funny anymore."

"Such a party pooper. Okay. Yo momma's—"

"Don't insult my mother."

"It's a joke, but fine. You know, it's hard to impress you. Just what impresses you?"

The dark brunet placed both palms on the bed behind him and braced himself up. "Intelligence."

Eames mimicked a gasp and placed a hand over his heart. "Your words wound me! I said before that I'm not the sharpest crayon in the box. But, hm ... knock, knock."

"No."

"Come on, this one is actually a good one. Mal told it to me."

Arthur sighed and sat up straight once more. "Who's there— hold on. Did you say Mal?"

Eames blinked, the smile immediately wiping off his face. "You know her?"

"Mallorie Miles?"

Some sort of light broke out on the other's face. "Where do you know her from?" The excitement in the other's voice brought curiosity to the younger of the two.

"School," he answered.

"You're joking— she told me that he had to move away!"

The Englishman began to frown. "It hasn't even been a year, I don't think ... is it possible that you could bring her here? Or ask her about me?"

So Mal was the one that brought on the fact that Eames was in a fairy tale. He would need to thank her later for giving such idea and having Eames pine after him.

Or maybe he could save himself from this and bring Mal back. Maybe then, Eames wouldn't be strung on him. It wasn't a bad idea— it only involved the fact that he would need to bring a female to his room, which would raise suspicion, and he didn't want anyone to get the wrong idea. Well, there was always an alternative; he could connect them via phone— but he doubt that she could do anything just by talking.

"I'll ask about you," Arthur responded, not believing that he was actually helping the other out.

Eames broke into a grin. "What a coincidence— she's a beauty, isn't she?"

Again, Arthur found it very awkward; he wasn't one to talk about a classmate without critiquing them. He could say that Mal was a bit pushy, seeing that she seemed to believe that he wasn't straight— but that was it, and besides, if he said that, Eames would probably spend an hour defending her, which would lead to more conversations on her. That, of course, would continue to make him feel odd, because what if— just what if there were video cameras around and people were watching him? What if this was some sort of TV show that would reveal him to the rest of the world? It didn't explain the phenomenon behind the talking of the mirror, though. Now he was just being paranoid.

Shrugging the thoughts off, the male nodded in slight agreement. Eames didn't stop there though; he continued to blabber endlessly about the first day he saw her and whatnot.

Twenty seconds in, Arthur was already tuned out. Eames was providing pitiful entertainment, but Arthur was amused by the other's lips and accent. It was fucking mesmerizing, and he knew that he was staring.. Unfortunately, before he could correct himself, Eames caught him.

"My eyes are up here, darling."

Arthur's hues traveled up to meet the bright blue-green ones. Quickly, he felt warmth creeping up in his cheeks, but he quickly waved it off with a non-embarrassing thought.

"I can not stress how bloody adorable you look," Eames murmured. "How do you even keep your face that smooth?"

Another frown dawned on the younger of the two, which cued Eames to quickly take back the question.

"Let's talk about you. Tell me more about yourself."

"This is not entertainment," Arthur muttered.

"I apologize for not having tricks up my sleeve, and you did refuse to hear my jokes. Give me a little base, pet. Talking to you's about the only thing I can do. Cooperate with me, won't you?"

A slow breath drew from the student before he began. "Fine ... I grew up in Chicago and went to private schools. I was never ... harassed until I moved here. And I want to be teacher."

"A teacher, hm? I would expect you to become a doctor or a lawyer, but a teacher works. Enlighten me on the reason why, though."

Arthur gazed elsewhere for a moment, ashamed, because he was sure his parents would have expected the same out of him once he were to admit his goal of being a teacher.

"I suppose I like to correct others and ... teach." His gaze returned to opposing figure. "Don't criticize me."

"I wasn't going to, darling," Eames responded with a smile. "I think you would make a wonderful teacher, since you already have the clothes for it. What subject and grade do you want to teach?"

"English, possibly junior or senior years in high school. I find a fascination in literature." He mindlessly gestured at the drawer full of his books. "There are more than a hundred classics in there. My grandmother gave them to me the moment I could read at a fifth grade level."

Eames stared. "You could read them at the time?"

"Not Shakespeare. Just ones that are plain English, yes. I caught onto Shakespeare in seventh grade." Arthur could tell that the Englishman was impressed; he couldn't help but allow a small smirk to override his lips. "Impressed?" he taunted.

Eames huffed. "Am I! I still don't get what Shakespeare's rambling on about, and I'm actually _English_. Perhaps you should read to me some time." The light brunet raised his hand and gestured at nothing. "You know, for practice just in case you have to read to your class?"

It actually wasn't a bad idea. Though he was sure that he _didn't_ need any practice anymore (his speech voice was projecting, and he trained himself to make eye contact and whatnot), he could do it to pass time. Besides, he had already impressed the other; why not impress him more? It wasn't as if Arthur was aimed on impressing Eames specifically, but he liked the praise given to him in the end, even though, in this case, it would be praise from the other. Then again, Eames could just be saying nice things to him— well, that wouldn't matter as much; Arthur knew he had reading out loud down, and he didn't need anyone to tell him otherwise. But still, it wasn't the worst idea.

"Maybe," he answered, a small smile tinting the corner of his mouth.

Eames also caught that small movement. "I should go gush over how cute—"

The small smile disappeared. "Your flirting is obnoxious."

"Oh, but I'm merely complimenting you, darling. I can very well flirt as well."

If Eames was complimenting him before, Arthur would hate to see what actual flirting was.

"I'm fine," he responded.

"I certainly agree." Eames was holding a small smirk, and by now, Arthur was sure what that meant: competition.

"Good for you. It's nice to see that you have some fair tastes."

"Mm, I might not be the most charming man with the best tastes, but you are talking to me."

"It's common courtesy to reply when spoken to," Arthur replied, a smirk tinting his own lips. This was providing more amusement, even though the pick up lines Eames used weren't as clever.

"Hm. Well, if I rearrange the alphabet, I would put _U_ and _I _together."

That one was overused, which made it easier for Arthur to come up with a comeback. "I'd rather keep _N_ and _O_ together, and it's you and _me_. Proper grammar, Eames."

Eames pouted slightly, then straightened and continued to say another. "Did it hurt?"

The young teen leaned forward slightly, the mischievous smirk still in play. "Did what hurt?"

"When you fell from Heaven?"

"No, but I did scratch myself when I climbed from Hell."

Judging by the expression the other gave in response, it was obvious that he hadn't heard that before. Arthur was perfectly content with that.

He waited for the next line to come, but Eames had fallen silent. Blue-green eyes were strayed on his own, making Arthur feel slightly uncomfortable again. He cleared his throat, and the Englishman snapped out of his trance.

"Oh, sorry, mate. Do you have a map? I got lost in your eyes."

The dark brunet rolled his eyes and suppressed another smile. Eames continued.

"Are you tired, darling?" he questioned, dropping his voice into a husky tone that sent shivers down Arthur's spine. "Because you've been running through my mind non-stop."

"I can only imagine who you use these pick up lines on," the student commented.

Eames beamed. "Are they working?"

Arthur snorted. "I've heard them before."

"Hm ... I might not be a rock singer, but I can guarantee to make your bed rock." Eames gave him another cheeky grin.

Arthur shook his head. "You're in a mirror," he pointed out.

"Well, once you kiss me, and I get out of this mirror, we can do some math. All we need to do is add a bed, subtract our clothes—" Arthur felt the temperature rise in his cheeks once more. "— divide our legs, and multiply the pleasure."

That, he had never heard before, and the hints at were getting to him.

"I win," Eames proclaimed after Arthur remained silent for more than a few seconds.

Though he didn't want to lose, Arthur found himself giving in. The last one had definitely caught him off guard, and because of that, he had to forfeit. To make matters worse, he knew Eames wasn't going to let it go. After calming the blood that rushed to his cheeks, he exhaled slowly and returned his gaze to Eames' smug expression.

He scoffed. "The very least you could do is keep it PG-13."

"We're both seventeen and older, no?"

"Yes, though—"

"You're a blushing virgin—"

"I am not!" Which of course, was a total lie, because now, Arthur was flushed again.

Eames merely chuckled. "Not anything to be ashamed of, love. Believe it or not, so am I."

Arthur puffed his cheeks slightly. "You're stuck in a mirror—"

"Well, there's this thing called—"

"I don't want to hear it. Please change the topic."

Though Eames looked very amused by his reaction, he, thankfully, changed it upon request. "How about a story, love? I've done a bit of talking on my part. It's only fair if you do your share."

As an answer, the dark brunet slid off the bed and made his way to the drawer. While he looked through for a suitable book, he told himself that he could walk away and ignore Eames for quite some time for even mentioning blushing virgin, but the moment his fingers plucked out a short novel, he already made up his mind.

Two pages into the reading, Arthur was sure that Eames wasn't even listening. He was watching him, yes, but Arthur could very tell that the other wasn't focused on the reading.

"_She was decked in a green turtleneck that corresponded with the color of her eyes_." The young teen peered up from reading. "What color turtleneck was she wearing?" he questioned, faintly amused when Eames blinked a few times to dawn back down to Earth.

"Pardon?"

Knowing that he very well caught the Englishman in the act, he bookmarked the page and closed it. "You're not listening."

"You just asked me one question— I don't pick up on everything—"

"What is the protagonist's name, then?"

"Well—"

"Is the protagonist a male or female?"

"Female."

Arthur placed opened the book back to the front page. "_Jason was _..."

"Jason could be a feminine name."

"— _peering at _his _shoes_," the dark brunet continued reading, his brow quirked curiously at the opposing figure.

The man in the mirror huffed. "Fine, fine. You caught me."

Arthur clasped the novel close once more before putting it aside. "Then, there's no point reading to you."

"What do you propose we do, then?"

The student shrugged slightly as he stepped off his bed and returned the novel to its original place in his drawer.

If reading was now out, then what was left? It was only two in the afternoon. They seemed to have talked about everything yesterday and an hour ago. There was the option of the television, but he rarely watched TV unless it was for some sort of homework assignment. Besides, what sort of shows were on on Sunday at this time? Nothing interesting, he could imagine. Plus, he was sure that his parents would highly disapproval when they came home and saw him lounging on the couch.

"We can always try kissing—"

Arthur's gaze snapped to the light brunet. "No."

"—your parents aren't home."

"No."

Eames made an impatient noise before sitting down and saying no more. On the other hand, Arthur made his way around the room, pacing on the things he could do. There was practically nothing. Well, he could to his homework for the days that he was going to be missing, but he didn't have the assignments, and with the way he was cut from any sort of communication with the outside world, there was no way to get said assignments. Unless—

"Eames. Is it possible for you to travel to other mirrors?" He peered curiously down at the man sitting.

The other gave a faint sniff. "If I could, darling, I would have been out of here by now, and more entertained. But unfortunately, I'm stuck in this one."

That answer was good and bad; it was good because Arthur then knew that Eames wasn't peeking in when he showered (if he were to trust the words), and bad because that didn't help him any.

With a defeated sigh, Arthur climbed on the bed and laid down.

"We could play games," Eames suggested only five minutes later.

At this moment, Arthur could care less what they do as long as it brought him entertainment for the rest of the day and Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday.

"What game?"

"The ones we played when we were kids. You know— I Spy, Tic-Tac-Toe, 20 Questions, Hang Man, those things. Mal use to have board games and cards, but you don't seem to have any laying around. Any other ideas?"

Arthur rolled on his stomach and peered down at Eames. "Not really," he answered. "Hang Man sounds alright."

The Englishman gave him a small smile. "Brilliant. You have paper, right?"

Pushing himself up, Arthur crawled over to his nightstand and fished out a notebook and a pencil. As he returned, he flopped back down on his belly. "Who starts?" he asked ad he turned to a blank page.

"Why don't you start?"

"Alright."

Fixing his brown eyes on the blank page, Arthur racked his mind for something that wasn't that easy or hard. In the end, he went with something along the lines of what he was thinking. After drawing nineteen blanks (two blanks, a space, four blanks, a space, two blanks, another space, six blanks, a space, and five more blanks), he drew the post.

"Guess a letter."

"Mm, _E_?"

Giving a nonchalant nod, Atthur wrote in where the E's went and then turned the notebook around to show the opposing male the blanks. **(_ e :: _ _ _ _ :: _ e :: _ e _ _ _ _ :: _ _ _ e _.)**

"_A_?"

Flipping the paper back, he filled in the blanks and, once more, showed the other. **(_ e :: _ _ _ _ :: _ e :: _ e a _ _ _ :: _ _ _ e _.)**

"_M_?" **(_ e :: m _ _ _ :: _ e :: _ e a _ _ _ :: _ _ _ e _.)**

"_S_." **(_e :: m _ s _ :: _ e :: _ e a _ _ _ :: _ _ _e_.)**

For some time, Eames pondered over letters. Over a few minutes, with only a head, a body, and both arms, he guessed it. "Is it '_we must be really bored'_?"

Arthur smiled and filled in the remaining blanks.

Eames gave a soft snort. "You didn't have any better suggestions. Alright, let me think of something."

The dark brunet tapped the pencil lightly against the notebook as the Englishman thought over what to make him guess. When a good minute passed by, he finally spoke up. "Three blanks, apostrophe, two blanks, space, and six blanks, period."

Arthur pondered over this for some time; the first word seemed pretty easy, since there weren't many possibilities, but he didn't want to take the chance.

"_E_."

After a bit of contemplation, Eames nodded once in Arthur's direction. "One E at the end of the first word, and the fourth letter of the second word." **(_ _ _ ' _ e :: _ _ _ e _ _.)**

"_R_," because Arthur knew quite well that it couldn't be _'ve'_, considering '_they_' nor '_we_' fit the first blanks.

"Before the first E, pet." **(_ _ _ ' r e :: _ _ _ e _ _.)**

After filling it in, the younger of the two was pretty surely that he could guess the first word. But just in case— "Y."

"First blank of the whole phrase, and last blank." **(Y _ _ ' r e :: _ _ _ e _ y.)**

"_O_."

"Second blank for both words." **(Y o _ ' r e :: _ o _ e _ y.)**

The first thought that came to his head the moment he overviewed the entire thing was '_you're gooey'_, but of course, that didn't fit and besides, it didn't make any sense. There wasn't really a point in guessing the letter _U_, since it was deadly obvious. The _U_ didn't seem to fit in with any of the other letters in the second word either— unless it was a foreign language or some unheard of word. So, Arthur began guessing letters.

"_M_?"

Eames' face wore a cheeky grin. "Nope."

Hating the fact that he was wrong, but still being fair, he drew a circle for the head.

"_N_?"

"No _N_," the other returned with much amusement tinting his lips.

The dark brunet furrowed his brow at the blanks after adding a body to the head. His mind reeled with possible words that could fit in. Twenty seconds of silence later, Eames spoke up. "It's not that hard, love."

For the first moment, Arthur didn't catch on, but after said moment, he peered up. "_You're lovely_?" he answered, quirking his brow.

A beam split on the Englishman's face. "Why, thank you for the compliment, darling! I never thought that you had it in you to admit your fascination for me!"

Arthur rolled his eyes, but he couldn't help but manage a weak grin. "The puzzle, idiot," he reminded, filling in the blanks, then showing it for the light brunet to see.

"Oh, so you're right. Your turn."

Their hang man games continued for nearly another hour before Arthur grew tired of it (though he enjoyed guessing the compliments Eames was paying him). They moved onto twenty questions, which Eames took a fancy in very much, and in return, cued Arthur to feel awkward.

"Is it an object I can hold?"

Eames smirked. "Yes."

"Is it in this room?"

"Yes."

"Is it big?"

The Englishman leaned slightly closer and waggled his eyebrow suggestively. "I can say so, yes."

"Um ... is it red?"

Arthur caught the movement as Eames' eyes flickered down, then back up. "I believe it is."

"Is it visible to me?"

"Not at the moment."

Arthur nearly choked on his own spit. He had a clue on what the other was hinting at, but it was frustrating and rather embarrassing to even say it out loud. Then again, Eames could just be teasing him again. What else was red and in the room, but not visible to him? Eames wasn't wearing anything red, and he was sure that he wasn't either.

"Is it bigger than twelve inches?" That question just killed him to ask.

In response, Eames was practically laughing as Arthur fought to make sure he wasn't turning beet red. "No, but I'm sure it's around seven - eight inches." That didn't make it any better. "And it's hard," the older of the two hinted.

Okay. This was being taken too far.

"Mr. Eames, I don't think this is—"

"Appropriate? Arthur, get your head out of the gutter."

There was nothing other than what Arthur was thinking that was not visible, in the room, red, seven to eight inches in length, apparently big, and is hard.

Eames chuckled. "I was thinking about the book you read to me."

Oh.

_Oh_.

Dammit.

Eames was definitely doing that on purpose. The student huffed and glanced away. The man in the mirror was obviously entertained by his reaction.

Arthur was going to get revenge, and it wouldn't be funny anymore. He peered around the room. It didn't take him long to locate his target object. Drawing his gaze around the room once more to ensure the fact that Eames didn't follow his glance, he turned back to the other.

"Alright. Your turn," Arthur announced, wanting to wipe that smug look off the other's face.

"Mm. Is it possible that I can hold it?"

"Well," Arthur drawled, hoping that he was heavily implying something. "If you happen to get out of the mirror, _maybe_."

"Is it big?"

"Depends on your definition of big."

The smug look was now gone. "Longer than six inches?"

"I believe so. I haven't measured, but it appeared like it last time I looked at it." His brown eyes took in the sight of Eames peering down once more.

"Hm," the other started, looking up with hard eyes. "Is it hard?"

"Yes."

"Is the tip ... pink?"

Okay. Maybe this was getting a bit too far— never before had Arthur tried to imply something so ... disregarding. But still, Eames was turning a bit pink himself. Revenge was sweet sometimes.

"If we're thinking about the same tip, then yes. Though, it's more of a reddish-pink."

Where was this mind coming from?

"Can I see it?"

"Depending on where you're looking, _perhaps_."

Eames licked his lips and met Arthur's eyes. "Stop teasing me, darling," he said, his voice in a very faint growl.

Arthur mirrored the smirk once on the other male. "If you cleanse your mind, the answer would have been obvious. I was talking about my pencil." To show that he was telling the truth, the young teen held up his pencil.

Eames sniffed. "I admit defeat for this time."

All Arthur could do was send the opposing figure a lingering smirk, since the sound of a door opening cut any other taunting words from spilling out of his mouth. Jerking his sights away from the man in the mirror, he glanced out the window. "Finally," he muttered, sliding off the bed and making his way out of the bedroom to greet his parents.

His mother greeted him back, but his father managed a small grunt. There wasn't a doubt about it; his father still wasn't in the brightest mood, and he had a pretty fair idea that it was because of his suspension. And because the guilt returned, Arthur bounded down the stairs and helped his mother unload the groceries and whatnot.

After the groceries were put away, his mother offered to teach him a few dishes. On regular terms, Arthur would have refused, but holding up this sort of record and having nothing better to do, he agreed.

He should have known, though; ten minutes into the cooking, his mother gently approached him with the topic of his suspension and what was going on at school. He found that lying was pitiful at the moment, and besides, what was the point? She already knew the reason why he had gotten into the fight. As he began explaining in further detail, he began to become easier with the atmosphere. It wasn't as awkward as before, for some odd reason. After explaining his tale, Arthur heaved a sigh and continued to stir the soup. His mother threw in a few cut up carrots before replying.

"Standing up for yourself is right, but you don't need to lash back. You're an intelligent man; use witty comebacks instead of your fists." She gave him a soft smile before ordering him to put a teaspoon of salt in.

As he did, he contemplated her advice.

It wasn't bad, actually; it wouldn't get him in too much trouble ... as long as he said it, then ran for his life. Plus, he had tried a few comebacks with Eames— the whole ordeal seemed completely coincidental, but he didn't voice this out loud.

"I know your father wants you to have a good education as well, Arthur, but you need to have fun too. Do you ... like anyone?"

Oh, no. Not this—

"No."

His mother surveyed him. "You're lying," she replied, dipping a spoon in and tasting the soup.

Arthur stopped stirring and blinked. "How are you aware—?"

"I'm your mother, and keep stirring."

While half-consciously stirring, he watched her chop the celery. Sure, he may not have a lot of practice on lying before, but he thought he had made himself sound convincing. Apparently not, according to his mother— and obviously the others at his school.

"Tell me about her," she continued, scooping in the celery before moving to the spices cabinet.

Arthur cleared his throat uncomfortably before gazing into the dark soup. "He's ... the captain of the varsity boys' soccer team, and he's not that great at math."

Dammit, he just admitted his schoolboy crush on Dom.

To make matters worse, his mother froze and gazed at him. "He?" she repeated.

The fact that he was supposed to be _straight_ crossed his mind at this moment.

Just— _fuck_.

He screwed everything up. Heaving a sigh, he removed his hand from the large spoon that was used to stir the soup. "It's nothing big, mother. He's just ... attractive. I don't think of him as—"

"Oh, no. I ... I'm just shocked. I don't have a problem with—"

Arthur knew that tone of voice. It sounded like she was disappointed, but only saying that to make sure that he was happy. He went over to the sink and washed his hands.

"I'm not in love with him, mother. I'll marry a suitable woman once I find her." The last sentence came out pointed and forced, but he didn't stick around to interpret her response.

After drying his hand, Arthur quickly retired go his bedroom. He had promptly ignored Eames' greeting (as usual) as he went to grab his items for a shower. As he stepped into the pouring, hot water, he drowned himself in his thoughts.

He needed to will himself not to fall for Dom, because he knew that that would be pathetic. Dom could be straight. Besides, Arthur couldn't really imagine himself in a relationship with the other. It was just attraction, he told himself.

As for a relationship itself, he wanted to make his parents happy— he did owe them one because of the mistake of getting into a fight. Maybe he could ask Ariadne out— she wasn't that bad; she was rather pretty and had been nice to him, not to mention, was there when he needed her. She wasn't a bad choice. Thing was, though, he wasn't attracted to her like he was in Dom. But maybe if he focused more on her, he would become more interested?

Wait.

What was he thinking about?

High school relationships?

He needed his time to be focused on studies and graduating— but his mother was obviously not impressed by the lack of fun he was having. Well, he could always get out and hang out with the group (Dom, Ariadne, Mal, Lorenzo, Houston, and Tadashi) more. They, after all, have weekly meetings at Ariadne's cafe on Wednesday afternoons (according to Ariadne, of course). Even though he felt as if he was intruding, it wasn't a bad idea either. And his mother would approve. But his father would still go unimpressed.

What could he do to get his father's respect back? Get straight A's on his report card? He had been doing that all his life (save the one B he had in sixth grade social studies because his teacher didn't like him and vice versa), and by this time, it wasn't much of an impression anymore.

Rinsing himself a final time, Arthur exhaled slowly.

He would come up with some sort of plan that did not involve getting in any sort of romantic relationship. He could maybe invent something and become famous for it— Arthur snorted at his own idea and shut off the shower.

After drying himself and getting dressed, he returned to his room.

Tossing his dirty clothes away and hanging the towel up, he paced towards the bed. After catching a glimpse of the clock that read that it was six, he climbed onto the bed and gazed at his reflection.

"Eames?" he called out softly.

Seconds after his request for he other's arrival, there still wasn't a response.

Given the thought that his conversation partner was probably asleep, Arthur stepped out of the bed and proceeded downstairs for dinner while trying not to worry about making his parents happy.


	6. Chapter 6

**Warning;** alternate universe, supernatural, teen & lolidk! Arthur

**Disclaimer;** if only, ohoho ~

**Author's Notes;** The chapters will get more ... interesting, hopefully. Thank you for the lovely reviews ~

* * *

Monday morning, Arthur was automatic as he got up at six on the clock. When he stepped in the shower to clear his head, it was only then that he remembered that he was suspended and that there was really no point in getting up and staying up this early. But nevertheless, he finished his shower in a timely manner. Though, instead of grooming himself up like usual, he proceeded to dry his hair with his towel, leave it half-wet, before peering in the Eames' mirror's direction.

From seeing his reflection, he assumed that the other was sleeping. So here, he was given one of two choices; head down for breakfast or continue to lay around in his room. He wasn't hungry (he usually wasn't during most mornings, but he ate just because it was the most important meal of the day— from the looks of it, he still had three hours of "breakfast hours" left), so he decided to laze around.

After grabbing one of his favorite novels, Arthur settled himself on his bed and turned to the first page.

He had read _Ender's Game_ more than four times— first, when he was gifted it; second, when he reread to make sure he understood it; third to pick up the details; and the fourth time was for pure entertainment. Though he thoroughly enjoyed the book, the content itself got boring since it was his fifth time reading the first page. He could only imagine, by time he reached the end of the book, he could answer every question that specified very small details that usually went through one ear and out the others for most.

As his careful eyes skimmed the first chapter, he became aware that he wasn't even paying much attention, and that he took in nothing after reading the seventh page. His eyes darted back to the first word on that page. He began to read again, but after a paragraph, he gave up.

Closing the book, he straightened up and peered over at the mirror. Still his reflection. Shouldn't Eames be up by now? He was gone since the time of dinner until this moment. Not that Arthur was worried. He was just curious.

Aside from that, he was bored and anticipating the time to turn to eight o'clock. Seven minutes seemed a long time to wait, and when he stared at it, the time only seemed to tick by slower.

With a sigh, he drew his gaze away. His thoughts then reeled to what he could do for the remainder of thee day (aside from eating and reading, of course). He could check out what was playing on the television, but he doubt his father would approve, even though he said nothing about him not being able to watch TV. He could always do his laundry, but he did it yesterday. There wasn't a point in washing nothing but the clothes he wore last night.

So, he was struck with boredom until Eames played his part and entertained him.

He could only imagine their little kiddie games getting worse, though. Eames was pushing his limits; never before had he implied something pertaining to his own body part— or at least, something sexual— but yesterday, he couldn't help but get the other back for pulling such. And he actually felt accomplished after it. Yet, it wasn't anything to boast about. If anyone, aside from Eames, were to hear about it, his reputation of being prim, proper, and formal (save the fact that he got in a fight, of course), would be trashed. Not to mention, everyone would look at him differently just because of something that hinted at things forbidden to be mentioned unless he was eighteen, which was next year.

Speaking of such, Eames did mention that his birthday was coming up soon. If Arthur had his laptop, he could have researched it— wait. He should have done that earlier. If Eames was proclaimed missing, then there should be reports on his disappearance and whatnot. Ariadne had said that Eames went missing, and for a week or two, the whole town feared. But that was years ago— _six_ years ago, if he was calculating correctly.

_Six years_.

By now, most probably assumed that the other was dead, seeing that he practically disappeared without a trace. If that were the case— if, per se, the whole fairy tale thing was true, he were to kiss Eames and successfully save him, then what would happen?

There wasn't a doubt that his parents would automatically become suspicious of a man in his bedroom that entered without their permission. Others would probably think that he kidnapped the Englishman or something along those lines. If not, he would still be questioned, which meant he had to tell the truth or make up a story. If he told the whole truth, then no one would believe him.

Arthur could barely even believe himself— a man in a mirror by means of magic was ludicrous and impossible. The officials would send him to an insane asylum for even telling the story. Or, at the very least, he would end up getting therapy.

But the mirror was proof, right? The investigators could examine the mirror and find clues. Eames could back him up and report Nash. It shouldn't be hard to catch the other man, considering that there has to be fingerprints somewhere. But did fingerprints stay after six years?

As Arthur pondered these questions, he gazed over at his clock once more. It was eight. Only seven minutes passed. By two hours, he was sure that he would run out if things to even think about. For now, he could consider the made up story.

Well, if Eames could back him up, he could simply say that he found the other. Or maybe he didn't need to get involved. Eames was already an adult; he could make something up with that wild imagination of his. But whatever he makes up, Arthur didn't want to be a part of it. He didn't have the time to be interviewed, and his parents would certainly question him further more on what the Eames business was all about, which would make a very long story if he was to tell the truth.

As for getting Eames out of the house without his parents seeing, he could either smuggle him out with a fifty percent chance of being caught or throw him out the window. Or hide him until his parents leave so he could drive the man somewhere far, far away. The third one seemed like the best option, considering that that would mean that he would probably not see the other again.

But that was all in the future; he would decide what to do when the time called for it.

Now, he needed to find something suitable to be doing aside from watching television and eating. He could always go for a jog, but seeing that his parents were asleep, they might wake up to think that he was sneaking out. And if they thought that, he would be in more trouble. At this moment, that was the least he wanted.

Arthur heaved a sigh and rested back on his pillow. He curled up into a slight ball as he peered at the mirror. Still the reflection of his room. He frowned faintly and wondered if it was possible to tap the mirror or shout for Eames to wake up. That was possible, right? The Englishman could hear him in front of the mirror; it would only make sense if he could hear him in the same room.

Having nothing else to do, Arthur tested his theory.

He pulled himself up and crawled over to the edge of his bed where he proceeded to get off. He peered at his reflection for a while, contemplating why he couldn't see the gray room Eames was in. Passing it off as some crazy idea from Nash or whatever his name was, Arthur stepped closer. He leaned forward, leaving an inch between him and the mirror. During the moment in which he searched for any trigger, he worried about the other showing up unexpectedly, which, he knew, would scare the skin off of him. At the thought of such, he pulled away and examined the mirror.

It seemed to be an ordinary mirror. Maybe he dreamt everything about Eames— maybe school hadn't even started, and he just moved in. Maybe he was tired— no. If that was the case, then his backpack wouldn't be laying were he usually put it after coming home from school. So, Eames, and every event involving the certain Englishman were real.

Then, why wasn't he showing up in the mirror? Perhaps he died? It was a possibility. He had mentioned it before, even though the other had decided that it wasn't possible because he would end up getting a kiss.

At the thought of that, Arthur sniffed.

He hadn't kissed anyone yet, and truthfully, he didn't want to kiss a mirror. That was basically, to him, like making love to himself. Though he would admit that he was quite attractive, he wouldn't go as far as that. The least his first kiss could be was with an actual person. That wasn't going to happen if he was supposed to kiss the mirror.

Then again, the whole thing could be a fairy tale. There must be some other way out of it. He was not kissing the mirror— or Eames. His first kiss, and he knew he was sounding like a prissy and bratty teenage girl, but his first kiss was going to be special. Just not the_ kiss-a-mirror _special.

And, wait— why the hell was he thinking about kissing? Things like this shouldn't be an issue until he was allowed to date, which was after his school years, because his parents thought that love and whatnot would affect his grades somehow.

Not that that really mattered.

Even though he planned to settle down in five years or something along those lines, he was sure that he had plenty of time to find someone and date. Possibly propose. Maybe.

It was still too early to think about the future; hell, he wasn't even sure if he _wanted_ to settle down, have a spouse and children. For one, a spouse meant life-long dedication. At the moment, no one was sprouting that vibe. And two, he wasn't that fond of kids, especially the ones that were snobby and stuck up. Not to mention, they were loud and obnoxious, like Eames, and they take up a lot of time and attention. He didn't want kids at the moment, and he was sure, in the future, he won't even have a child until he was financially stable without his parent's support. Which would be thirty years or older, he could imagine.

But that was the future; he was living in the present. There wasn't a point in thinking about a family yet when he hadn't even met that "someone special".

Shaking his head from the thoughts once again, Arthur climbed back on his bed.

Three minutes later, he found himself in a position that he usually placed himself in when he was little. He hung half-off the bed, he stomach rested on the edge of the bed where it actually hurt, with his arms dangling down. He knew he was endangering his head, brain, and his entire future, but so far, he hadn't had a casualty. Besides, he was careful; that was why his hands are dangling beside him— just in case he does slip off the bed, it could be possible that he could catch himself, or at the very least, do a somersault to safety. Only, the wall was a good meter away. He could actually injure himself. And that wouldn't be a pretty picture, since he already had bruises littering his body from the fight on Friday.

As he was about to pull himself up, Eames chose that perfect moment to make a comment. "Good morning to you too, Arthur. I have a nice view of your arse in the air."

The comment made all the blood rush to the young teen's face, which made his head begin to spin. Quickly heaving himself back onto to the bed, he flopped back and allowed the blood to return to its original state. To his left, since he was laying on his back and upside down, Eames was very amused, and he could easily tell by the snickers coming from the opposing figure. After regaining his composure, he propped himself up on his elbows.

"Shut it," he muttered. "I was trying to think. Where were you the last ... thirteen or so hours?"

Eames tapped his bottom lip as if to think, then lowered his hand and flashed a grin. "Upside down thinking with your lovely arse in the air?"

"If you mention my—"

"Alright, alright. As for where I was, mm, I was ... resting. Now, do correct me if I'm wrong, but you actually sounded concerned of my presence. Am I finally worth your time?"

Arthur scowled.

Now, since Eames was here teasing him, he no longer wished for the other's presence.

"No," he answered flatly with a slight huff as he turned his gaze to the ceiling.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the Englishman smirking his trademark smirk. "I'm growing on you, darling. S'nothing horrible to admit. I'm honored, really."

Arthur didn't bother to throw the other a glare. By now, he realized that the glares didn't work on this man as they worked on others. So there wasn't really a point in showing it off again, unless it was necessary or came naturally.

"Any plans for today? I thought of some games that seem interesting."

And by interesting, the dark brunet was almost positive what the other was hinting at. He grumbled something unintelligent under his breath before turning towards Eames.

"I'm bored," he stated dully, "and I've been up for two hours."

"That's not fanciable. Hm, anything you have in mind to do, dear Arthur?"

Arthur's eyes peered at the ceiling once more as he thought. Moments later, his sights returned to the Englishman, and he shrugged. "I have nothing, else, I wouldn't be talking to you at this moment."

"Oh, now. That hurts. I thought you liked me." The light brunet stuck out his bottom lip in a small pout once more. In response, the student puffed out his cheeks. Eames laughed, and Arthur cast off a soft '_hmph_'.

"You're adora—"

"No," the dark brunet cut in, his brows immediately furrowing.

"No?" Eames repeated, quirking an eyebrow.

"I'm not adorable. I'm handsome. There's a difference."

"You're cute."

"Attractive."

"Hot."

"Dashing."

"Sexy."

"Appealing."

"Are we still describing you, or am I incorporated within those adjectives?"

Arthur pushed himself up into a sitting position. "I was describing myself." And to prove that he was handsome, attractive, dashing, and appealing, he flashed a quick smile.

"Therefore, I'm adorable, cute, hot, and sexy," Eames responded, mirroring his grin. "Works with me, love. Now, with that settled, do inform me on what's on your planner for today."

The young teen's smile slipped slowly from his lips as he was brought back to consideration. He had nothing planned aside from breakfast, lunch, and dinner. And perhaps talking to Eames in between.

"Surprise me," he requested, eyes boring through the other male's blue-green orbs.

"Alright, if you insist. Truth or dare?"

There wasn't a point in playing truth or dare, since Eames couldn't do much anything inside a mirror, and Arthur knew the other would dare him to kiss him if he chose that choice. For thirty minutes, they went back and forth with questions prying into each other's life.

Some were personal, which Arthur decided to ignore and request for another one. There were some things he's definitely not admitting, considering that they were all absolutely embarrassing, and would, no doubt, be used against him sooner of later.

This, of course, made the game less interesting from Eames' point of view, but Arthur had gathered a bit of information about the other, so he didn't care as much.

He now knew that Eames' first kiss was shared on the playground during first grade. He also knew that Eames' birthday was on September 15th, which was nearing in a matter of weeks. He found out that the ridiculous pink shirt the man had on was from a brand name clothing company. And that purple was the man's favorite color (which was completely coincidental, since that was the color Arthur favored as well). Eames didn't like to read, and when he did, his best read was _The Outsiders_. Furthermore, the Englishman once broke his arm, flicked off a teacher, and passed with low D's his 8th grade year. Arthur wasn't even sure how the other managed to get into one of the sports' team.

Their little session ended when Arthur's stomach began to stir, calling out silently for food. After excusing himself, he proceeded downstairs to grab something to eat. As he ate his sandwich, he ran over his thoughts once more.

Really, Eames wasn't that horrible as a person. It was just the puns, the teasing, the taunts, and implications that made Arthur uncomfortable. Then again, it would make any regular person uneasy, no?

By time he finished his sandwich, he had already finished thinking about the Englishman. After all, he was putting too much thought into Eames when he should be considering something else— like school, since that played a major part in his life.

Though, he didn't linger on the topic of school for long. The moment he started up the stairs to make his way back to his room, he was already thinking of ideas that could amuse him and Eames both until lunch time.

As he entered the room and seated himself on the bed, Eames grinned and greeted him, like always.

"How was your breakfast?" the man in the mirror started, peering at him with the startling blue-green eyes.

"Dull," answered Arthur as he shifted to get comfortable.

"Better than eating nothing for six years, no? What did you have?"

Arthur quirked a brow as if to ask why their conversation was based on this, but he made no move to complain. It was, after all, something to reply to.

"You don't starve though. I had a sandwich."

Eames' brows shot up a bit, his face brightening with amusement. "Well, yeah. I don't starve. A sandwich— what sort?"

Arthur wasn't exactly sure if the man was trying to imply something or not, but from his interpretation, there wasn't anything that was above PG-13 that could involve a sandwich and its ingredients.

"Ham, lettuce, tomato, and whole wheat bread ... ?"

He leaned forward ever so slightly, as if to anticipate the light brunet's answer.

Eames gave a soft snort. "I always hated vegetables. Dad made me eat them. Coach did too."

The other managed a feeble shrug.

"What other things do you like to eat?" the older of the two continued to ask.

For a moment, the student pondered over the answer of the question. There were many things that he fancied eating, and to choose a few favorites above the rest— it was hard. Yet, in the end, he went with the basic ones that stuck to his head.

"I'm a fan of steak, breads, and fruits. Salads, on occasions, as well."

Eames rolled his eyes, and Arthur huffed again.

"Not surprising, love. I fancy steak too, though I rather prefer chicken and seafoods. Salads aren't my forte, though. Too much veggies." The Englishman's face scrunched up slightly at the mention of vegetables.

"It's healthy," the young teen responded.

"So is seafood ... on some occasions."

"On some occasions," Arthur repeated, mimicking the other.

Eames gave him a look for a moment before issuing his response. "Now, that didn't even sound like me, darling."

"You do know my mother thinks that I'm talking to myself, right?"

And Eames, the idiotic person he was, laughed. "I heard. Perhaps you should lower your voice."

"... I don't whisper," the dark brunet responded bitterly.

"No? I'm not the only one! We seem to have so many qualities alike. I believe that we're meant for each other."

Arthur faked a laugh for a moment, then dropped to a serious face. "No."

"Oh, bloody hell, Arthur. Don't you believe in happy endings?"

The student's brows furrowed as he glimpsed at the opposing figure. "Happy endings only happen in fairy tales," he stated.

"I'm offering you a chance to be in a fairy tale, love. Be the princess to my princey-self."

Arthur couldn't help but roll his eyes. "This is real life. And your fairy tale is screwed up. Besides, I would be the prince rather than the princess."

Eames shook his head, chuckling lightly. "The things happen to the prince. For example, _The Frog Princess_, _Beauty and the Beast_—"

"I'm sure you aren't aware of _Sleeping Beauty _or _The Little Mermaid_."

"You know your fairy tales! I am truly impressed."

Arthur heard the pure sarcasm dripping from each of those words, but chose to not reply to it with further sarcasm. "You're easily impressed," he commented in its place.

"Incorrect. I'm only deeply impressed with you." A wink followed that. "You're fascinating to me with your stick-in-the-mud personality. It makes me wonder what you are thinking— or how you would be out of control." A small smile rode over the Englishman's lips. "I'd love to see you out of control."

Arthur shifted in his position so that his legs were dangling off the bed. His chocolate brown eyes surveyed the man's expression.

Eames seemed sincere.

"I usually speak my thoughts aloud, and I think that you are quite ridiculous. As for my control, you've had a taste of it before when I unleashed my fury." He quirked a brow.

"Ah, so you are right. But I want to dig deeper into you. I want to know you better than you own mum."

"My mother doesn't know much about me," the young teen responded, frowning again.

At the sight of confusion flicking over the other's face, Arthur turned away. One of the subjects he wanted to avoid was the talk of his and his mother's situation.

Eames, though, didn't seem to get the hint that he didn't want to talk about her.

"Then, your dad? It's usually your mum that knows you more than anyone else—"

"She doesn't know anything," Arthur repeated.

"You don't tell her—"

"If you haven't noticed," the student hissed, eyes casting back on the man in the mirror, "my relationship with my mother is not as bonded as the ones people usually have with theirs. And I would prefer it if we don't talk about it."

"My apologies. Then, who knows you the most?"

At that, the dark brunet found himself chewing on his bottom lip— a habit he used to have, but stopped after discovering how ridiculous it was. Now, it was back just to flaunt the fact that he was hesitating. He was embarrassed by the answer, which made him consider whether or not to admit it. In the end, he dropped his gaze and heaved a sigh.

"At the moment, you. Or at least, you seem to be well informed."

Out of the corner of his eye, Arthur noted Eames' lips curving up into a smile.

"Good. I plan to learn more about you."

"I've learned enough about you," he grumbled in response, but the Englishman heard him.

"Oi. I'm an interesting an fanciable bloke. I just tend to run my mouth—"

"And that mouth's going to get you in trouble," Arthur said matter of factly.

"I've been told," the light brunet responded, his words still tainted with amusement.

For a bit, the student simply hugged his legs and watched Eames' unmoving lips in a somewhat daze. As he stared, he began to wonder how they would feel—

His eyes closed as he rested his chin on his knee. He exhaled slowly. Even though the lips look utterly kissable (this, coming from a person who hadn't had his first kiss), he willed himself not to stare at it again. He had been caught last time, and he didn't want the other to get any ideas.

Thankfully, it seemed as if Eames didn't notice, since the silence between them continued for five minutes. When the silence was broken, it was by the fellow Englishman.

"Have I told you that you look utterly snoggable?"

Of course Eames would start off a conversation like that. By now, he should have gotten to the fact that the other simply loved complimenting him.

Arthur would have been proud if the comments didn't make him flustered and embarrassed. For this one, he threw the other figure a careless glare as he desperately tried the settle the rise of temperature that threatened to show on his cheeks. Even though it had been a few weeks since the first compliment spilled out, he had obviously not gotten use to that. The flirtations, perhaps, but they still made him stop and scowl.

"I am aware, now, thank you," he replied stiffly.

Eames gave him a cheeky grin. "So, for my twenty-first birthday in three or four weeks, what are you going to give me? They say a kiss is the best gift."

"I'll sing you _Happy Birthday_," Arthur answered bluntly.

The Englishman's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "You're not pulling my leg, are you?"

The student scoffed. "I can't sing to save my life," he muttered. "So, yes, I was joking."

Again, Eames pouted— Arthur was so sure that the other was pouting on purpose because of his reaction. He didn't want to give Eames his usual reaction, since that was what he expected. So, he ignored it this time.

There was a slight pause in which the light brunet waited for him to do something, but when he refused to, he responded. "Shame. I'd imagine that you have a lovely voice."

Truth be told, Arthur thought he sounded pretty well, but only in the shower when the sound of water pouring covered much of the rasp. Then again, the last time he broke into a musical in the shower was a little less than a year ago. He could only imagine how bad he was at singing now.

"You can't be as horrible. Sing with me, now, darling. _Happy birthday to Eames_—"

"It's not even your birthday yet."

"Well, practice doesn't hurt. Repeat after me: _happy birthday to Eames_."

Arthur blinked slowly at the other man.

Right off the bat, he made an observation that the other wasn't that much of a singer, but at least it didn't sound like chickens scratching each other. Because if that was the case, then the mirror would have already been broken.

He wasn't saying that _he_ could sing any better though; he could even go as far as telling himself that he might be worse at singing than Eames, which really said something about his own voice. But he didn't want to lose any confidence. He was sure that, if he tried and had practice, then he would be an average singer.

For now, Eames, singing the birthday to himself, was rather hilarious, but the other's voice, dipped low and with a slight husk and growl to it, made the song and Eames' singing a bit fanciable than usual.

When the Englishman finished, he nodded at the young teen's direction. "Your turn."

Once more, Arthur replied with a quipped '_no'_.

"So stubborn, my love," tsked the man in the mirror. "My birthday wish is for you to sing me something, if not give me a kiss."

"You do realize that the more you mention your plan of yours, the more unwilling I am to cooperate. Not that I was cooperating in the first place."

Eames sniffed. "You said _maybe_."

"_Maybe_," Arthur stressed, "is a different word than _yes_. I'm not kissing you."

"Oh, but you will. I know my lips are very captivating."

At the sound of that, Arthur couldn't help but switch his gaze to Eames' mouth, which was curled into an amused smile. His sights flickered back to the blue-green eyes almost immediately afterward, hoping that he wasn't caught with his sudden inspection, but his action didn't go unnoticed.

"Just imagine yours against mine, pet," Eames purred, licking his lips in a seductive manner.

Arthur, a bit affected by the fact that the light brunet was suggesting something by licking his lips, gave a soft snort. "I would be kissing the mirror."

"Once I'm out, though," the British male promised, "we will snog, and it will be the most brilliant snog you've had— well, no, in your case, I'll make sure your first kiss is remembered."

Arthur didn't want to comply; kissing the mirror first would only show how desperate he was. At this moment, he was far from desperate. He just fancied looking at Eames' mouth. That was it, really.

But second offer of snogging was tempting, though, and he shivered at the thought. Even though he was seventeen, he still felt young. He didn't even want a relationship yet (save the fact that Dom was attractive, but he didn't think of the blond that way— or at least, he _shouldn't_). Shaking is head from the very thoughts, he tuned back into reality.

Eames was peering at him with much intensity in his eyes.

Arthur ignored the striking gaze and leaned back on his bed. "What happened to your parents?" he questioned, remembering back when Eames first explained the situation to him.

At the sound of such, the Englishman's brows furrowed and his lips curled into a delicate frown once more. The flirtatious atmosphere was suddenly gone.

He didn't answer, and his eyes, which were once on Arthur, slid away. The young teen wasn't entirely sure if he was avoiding the question or simply trying to refrain from tearing up. Seconds later, he noted that Eames' fists were clenched and his jaw was locked.

Clearly, this was a touchy subject. If Arthur had cared more, he would have said "_you don't have to tell me if you don't want to_", but he allowed Eames to make that decision.

Honestly, whatever happened to the man in the mirror's parents wouldn't affect the him, but generally, because of Eames' tensed reaction, he became a bit curious. He didn't want to push, though. This subject could be easily avoided if the other pulled one of _his_ tactics and tried to side-step the entire topic. Yet, it seemed as if Eames wasn't as secretive as he was.

"They died," he answered stiffly, about two minutes after the question was asked.

The answer itself was one of the reasons why Arthur preferred for the subject to be avoided. Again, he wasn't sure how to respond in this situation. With Robert, he simply told the Fischer heir to suck it up, or something along those lines. But Fischer wasn't dead. Eames' parents, on the other hand, and according to said man, was dead.

Arthur was silent for some time, quietly observing the other man. Eames was apparently still fighting a break down.

He wanted to say something, but what could he say? "_I'm sorry_"? He wasn't sorry for the fact that Eames' parents are deceased, because he never knew them. He wasn't sorry for the fact that he killed them either, because he didn't. It was harsh, but still, "_I'm sorry_" was an inappropriate response.

What else was there? There was the classic "_they're in a better place_", but from what he was seeing, a better place would have been on Earth with their son— _who was in a mirror_. That wasn't the right thing to say either.

Ending his thoughts, he remained quiet while continuously observing the other in silence.

Eames drew out a shaky breath nearly five minutes later before he lifted his gaze. The oceanic eyes skimmed across the chocolate brown ones, then darted away.

"Mum died giving birth to me. Dad ... he wasn't fond of. He blames me for mum's death. At times, he would hit me, but it wasn't as bad— just a slap or a punch. He puts me down. Suppose that's one reason why I toy with people's emotions."

The Englishman proceeded to sit himself down and palm his forehead.

Arthur, in return, didn't bother to sit up and watch any further actions; instead, he turned his gaze to the ceiling.

"He taught me to not trust— to not love anyone by myself. Or, at least, he influenced it. I just picked it up."

There was a slight hitch in Eames' voice that Arthur caught, but he didn't stop.

"He got into a car accident, and I was sent here, in my grandparent's care. Parents of my mum. They seem friendly, but that's rubbish. They blamed me for her death too. Like I could do anything to prevent it."

Anger was beginning to uprise in Eames' voice, and Arthur knew it was a smart idea to stop the story now, but Eames didn't stop.

"Really, all I wanted was to be loved— you know, like most of the people at school. I joined the sports team. Made a few companions that only stuck because I'm brilliant— you— hm. I only flirted and broke others just so I'm not the only one feeling pain. It's horrible, and shite ... I'm a terrible person, but Arthur— I swear I'm different. I like— I _want to_ like you."

Arthur pushed himself to a seating position so that he could look at Eames. The British figure was peering up at him. And from the looks of it, he hadn't even shed a tear.

Arthur wasn't sure if that was a good or a bad thing; good, because he didn't want to deal with it, but bad because it seemed as if Eames didn't care.

Not that it would matter, anyways.

"Honest, love. I've changed. Don't give me that look."

Arthur continued to frown at the other man.

Eames sighed and climbed to his feet. His hands braced on the side of the mirror as he met the brown eyes. "I want to change for you."

"You want to get out," the student corrected.

"That ... too," he responded in a faint murmur. "But I can like you— no. _I like you_, Arthur."

The teen rolled his eyes once more. "This isn't a fairy tale. We're not Romeo and Juliet," he stated.

"We're kinda like the fucked up version of Romeo and Juliet, then," Eames returned.

"This conversation is as ridiculous as your response."

"So, you agree?"

The younger of the two scoffed. "Not at all. If you'll excuse me, I need to grab lunch."

Even though it was two hours before the clock struck noon, he still got off the bed and ushered out of the room. He needed time to think, and hopefully, during the time he was away, Eames would think about what he just said.

— **ox — xo —**

For the entire day, he lingered downstairs, promptly ignoring his parents and watching TV (surprisingly, they didn't comment on that).

He watched a few dramatic acts, a couple of child cartoons, talk shows, and basically whatever he found interesting.

At six, his father came home with his homework assignments. He had that done after dinner.

When the clock announced that it was eight, he started back up the stairs. He was a bit wary as he entered his dark room and flipped on the light. His brown eyes flickered quickly to the mirror.

Eames was gone.

Deciding to leave the man alone, he went to get ready for bed.

— **ox — xo —**

He woke in the middle of the night to the sound of murmuring.

At first, he passed it off as his parents talking elsewhere in the house, but when his brain finally registered the fact that it was coming from the mirror, he turned over.

"Do you mind?" he grunted.

Eames blinked at him, moonlight casting over the mirror to give Arthur a view of the older man.

"Hello, Arthur. I was just thinking."

"It would be much appreciated if you think inside your head."

"My apologies, pet. But as I was saying, I was thinking about us."

Arthur groaned lightly and rolled over to face the wall. "There's no '_us_'."

"There will be."

"Go to sleep, Mr. Eames."

"Sweet dreams, darling."

— **ox — xo —**

Arthur woke up, again, five hours later. As he rolled to his back and opened his eyes, he heard Eames' voice.

"I'm in love with you."

He gazed over, but didn't bother to glare. It was morning, and he just woke up. He wasn't fully awake yet.

"You're forcing yourself," he mumbled, sitting up and running a hand through his pounding head.

God, he hated headaches.

He let out a breath and closed his eyes. As he massaged the bridge of his nose, Eames continued.

"I'm not. I haven't felt like this for someone before. Not even Mal."

"Do you ever shut up? I have a headache."

His arm fell to his lap as he exhaled a couple of more times. When that didn't work, he laid back down and curled into ball under the covers. It was stuffy and hot, and that didn't help him at all.

He pulled the covers down for air, and yet, his head continued to pound. He blamed the fact that he watched hours of TV, and Eames, since the other seemed strung on talking to him.

"A cold shower helps," he offered, but aside that, he continued to press the other subject. "I've been thinking this entire time and concluded that—"

"Eames," Arthur began, irritation in his voice, "you can not fall in love with someone you knew for three or four weeks."

"Romeo and Juliet—"

"—are _fictional _characters. There's no such thing as love at first sight." He then dragged the covers to his chin. "I'm trying to rest. Stop talking to me."

There was a sigh.

"One day, Arthur, you'll feel what I feel for you. Might not be for me, but you'll feel it, and you'll know—"

"You sound pathetic. I hope you are aware. Now, kindly shut the hell up before I break the mirror."

Eames fell silent after that.

— **ox — xo —**

He had woken up various of times throughout the day, but every time he did, he would still get the headache.

When it was four in the afternoon, he dragged himself to his feet. Ignoring the pain, he brushed his teeth and headed downstairs for something to eat.

His parents, again, were out.

After feasting on a quickly made sandwich, he swallowed painkillers, and not feeling up to anything else, he hauled himself back to his bed and crawled in.

Eames, as he first noticed when he entered, was aware of his presence, but didn't make a greeting. He didn't speak either when Arthur laid on the bed and tried to clear his head.

Gradually, the dark brunet forced himself to sleep for a mere hour.

— **ox — xo —**

When he awoke, the place was already dark, seeing that the sun was peeking slightly out of the horizon.

His head was lightly throbbing, but he wasn't as pained as before. He didn't want to take his chance and sit up either, but he did roll onto his back, and unfortunately (or maybe fortunately?) Eames had caught his movement.

"How are you feeling?" the Englishman questioned with much gentleness and caution.

"I'm fine," Arthur replied, a sigh of relief running past his lips.

"That's good to hear."

The young student turned and faced the other. "You sound tired," he commented dryly, almost speaking for himself.

Eames offered a small smile. "I had to make sure that you didn't die on me."

At the comment, the dark brunet frowned faintly, but nonetheless, he waved it off. "I just have a headache," he muttered. "Takes more than that to kill me."

The man in the mirror chuckled lightly. "I can imagine. Your mum dropped something off, by the way. I think it's your school assignments."

Arthur propped himself up lightly to see what the other was talking about.

Sure enough, a yellow folder was sitting in his desk.

With that seen, he laid back down. "I'll do that tomorrow."

"Tomorrow's our last day before you have to go back to school. Are you sure you don't want to socialize with me? You have plenty of time to get your work done. Talking to me, you rarely have time, and I do enjoy our conversations."

Arthur enjoyed them as well, but there was no way he would admit that out loud.

— **ox — xo —**

The next day, Arthur got up at nine. After cleaning himself and eating breakfast, he started on the assignments. By noon, he was free to do whatever he wanted. Not many options were given to him, so he settled with having small talk with the British figure.

Their chat began with Eames making sure that Arthur was completely okay. After that, they started slow. For once, there wasn't any flirtatious comments or taunting thrown around. They had a suitable, long conversation that involved the weather, school, his friends (he supposed Dom, Mal, Ariadne, Lorenzo, and Houston could be called his friends), and a small argument which had Eames defending dogs as the better pet to Arthur's preference of cats.

At five in the afternoon, his jaw was tired from talking and forcing back grins that dared to appear.

After excusing himself, he made his way downstairs for dinner. As the meal was served, he was given a small lecture before being told that he would get his possessions back. When Arthur returned to his room at seven, he had his laptop, his cellphone, and his car keys in his grasp.

The first thing that crossed his mind as he settled in was research Eames, and he did just that.

Situating himself on his bed with the Englishman trying to look at what he was doing on the laptop, Arthur typed _'Nicholas Eames' _into the search engine.

Turned out, the other and Ariadne were telling the truth.

According to the news report, fourteen year old Nicholas Eames from Limbo was reported missing on October 2nd. There weren't any traces, and reports of those who resided at the same house later claimed to have heard a voice. Presumably, most thought of the house as haunted. Which promptly meant that Eames could be a ghost. But Arthur contradicted that thought since the body wasn't found.

After reading the bit of information, he sat back, allowing it to seep in. A few moments later, he turned back to Eames. The other was gazing at him curiously, urging him to tell with his eyes. Arthur didn't tell. He simply closed the browser and closed the laptop.

Alright. So, Eames wasn't lying about his history, but that didn't mean the fairy tale thing was true. After all, Mal had assumed it. He made a mental note to ask her tomorrow. For now, Eames seemed rather impatient to hear what he had been doing on the computer. It wasn't an important subject, and he wanted to avoid admitting that Eames was actually honest on his part.

Arthur cleared his throat. "What were we talking about before?"

At first, the Englishman narrowed his eyes on him, as if telling him to mention what he was searching. When he did not, Eames answered the question.

"We were talking about my allergies to chocolate. Were you searching me up, though?"

_Caught_.

Arthur pursed his lips slightly. "I was checking to make sure that you were telling the truth. You wore a ridiculous purple and yellow shirt in the picture they posted of you. It makes me wonder why you weren't picked on."

"Oh, come, Arthur. It wasn't as bad. It makes me approachable, like I said before." The light brunet grinned at him. "It was one of my favorites."

Arthur just stared, because it was hard to believe a shirt as ugly as that was someone's favorite. Then again, Eames did emit a bad fashion sense. At least the other wasn't wearing the blinding shirt at the moment.

"Mm, I don't want to end our lovely conversation," the Englishman started, "but you do realize that you have school tomorrow, yes?"

When he heard that, Arthur's gaze snapped to the clock.

It was nearing his usual bed time.

"Right," the young student muttered before heading off to the bathroom.

Minutes later, he returned to his bedroom. After turning his laptop off and setting it aside, he climbed into bed.

"Don't wake me up in the middle of the night," the student requested, rolling to face the wall as he pulled the covers up.

There was a snort behind him. "Good night to you too."


	7. Chapter 7

**Warning;** alternate universe, supernatural, teen & sorta oblivious! Arthur, lolangst, one-sided Arthur/Cobb

**Disclaimer;** if only, ohoho ~

**Author's Notes;** You make me so happy, reviews. Thank you all! And for those that stuck with this fic, thank you for that as well. A subject I would like to bring up is that this fanfic is turning ... cliche, as some of you might have noticed. But not to worry, I'm trying to throw in some twists and turns, so bare with me ~

* * *

From the time in which Arthur woke up that Thursday morning, he knew that it was a good day, because, the moment he woke up, he's eager to get ready. Not to mention, his hair was actually _cooperating_ by staying in the direction in which he combed it. He had a light bounce in his step as he scurried from his shower to his bedroom and to his closet. After tying a tie around his neck, he peered over in front of the mirror. He thought that he looked absolutely dashing, and the stupid grin on his face told the world that he didn't give a damn about the other problems. Yet, the moment he realized that he was grinning like an idiot in front of Eames' mirror, he tied it down.

With his lips pressed into a faint line, he peered at himself one last time before leaning the short distance over. He tapped the mirror.

"I'm going now," he announced with a whisper and a very noticeable small smile.

As he pulled away, he hurried to grab his bag before ushering downstairs. It was also fantastic that the granola bar that he quickly grasped was the one with the yogurt along the bottom— his personal favorite kind. He was definitely having a good day.

Arriving at the school not fifteen minutes later, he parked and strolled in with a fresh atmosphere striking the area around him. Once crossing paths with his locker, he was glad to see that the profanity on Tadashi's locker and the arrow had been removed. Adding to his list of good things happening today, Arthur advanced onto grabbing his needed supplies.

As he sat in class, he anticipated Ariadne's arrival time. She came in not five minutes after him. When she sat down, the dark brunet turned to his classmate with a suppressed grin. "Good morning," he greeted.

Ariadne glanced around before looking at him again. She quirked a brow. "What did you have for breakfast?" she demanded.

Arthur blinked, his smile faltering a bit. "A granola bar?" he answered in a slight question.

She narrowed her eyes slightly. "Well, whatever you had. I want it."

"Wait. What?"

Confusion flickered across his face.

The female laughed and patted him on the shoulder. "Arthur," she started promptly, "it sounds and looks like you got laid last night."

The young man fell silent. His mouth was opened to retort something, but he quickly clamped it close when he realized that he had nothing to make of it. He ended up staring at her as if she had grown two heads. That only made her laugh again.

"But seriously," she said as her laughter ceased and the stares from other classmates turned away, "your '_good morning' _was never that enthusiastic before. What happened?"

Arthur blinked once more. "I just feel ... amazing?" he replied, feeling as if that wasn't the answer she wanted.

Apparently, what he felt was right. Ariadne gave him a plain look that clearly stated _'I know you got laid'_, which was nothing along those lines.

"I can't be enthusiastic, now?" he tsked.

"Not that; I'm just pointing it out." She beamed at him. "Or maybe because you're excited to see us?"

That could be a reason for his cheerfulness. And not wanting to push the topic further, he nodded. "It was a long five days."

She leaned back against her seat. "I can imagine! I tried calling you to see if you still had your phone, but it seemed like your parents took that up."

"That, and my car keys and laptop."

"You're kidding," Ariadne quipped. "What did you do for five days straight? You don't look as if you gained any pounds."

"Well," Arthur responded after glancing down to examine his own shape, "I slept and lazed around. Watched TV for a bit."

At the sound of the last few words, the young female struck up a new topic: TV shows. She blabbered on on that subject until their teacher arrived.

It wasn't long until he was in second period, then math class. He seated himself next to Dom and, like before, greeted the man with enthusiasm, but this time, he calmed down a bit just so the blond wouldn't become suspicious. Luckily, Dom waved it off with a returned greeting before leaning over with a piece of paper in his hand. "We're doing a math project," he explained, placing the assignment down so Arthur could read it. "I'm wondering if you want to be my partner. Since everyone else is paired up, and I know you better than my other classmates, even though I grew up with them."

Arthur quickly skimmed the project information, then nodded. "Sure."

"Good. Can you come over? Or we can meet at Ariadne's cafe?"

Arthur considered both options. Well, he didn't know Dom that well to go to his home. Besides, he knew he would feel uncomfortable with the other's parents. "The cafe," he decided. "Today?"

Dom nodded. "Yeah. After school, if you can. If not, we can do it Sunday. I have practice and a game this Friday and Saturday."

"Today's fine," he responded, handing the sheet back.

Dom flashed him a grin. "Great," he ended, turning back to face the front.

This left Arthur to deal with the fluttered feeling in his stomach.

— **ox — xo —**

School ended rather quickly, and Arthur was happy to finally get out of the building— not that it would really matter. Nothing involved bullying acts and taunting (aside from Lorenzo's and Houston's, but they weren't harmful), much to his fancy. He met Ariadne at the door, as usual. As he approached his car, he reminded her that he would be tailing her to her parent's owned cafe.

"Alright," she chirped in reply. "See you there!"

Somehow, Arthur ended up at the cafe before she did, which made him pick whether to go in or to wait for her arrival. In the end, he decided to wait.

It wasn't a long wait. Ariadne pulled up in the lot next to him three minutes after his arrival, and they got out together.

Her mother, it would seem like, gushed when they entered.

"Such a charming man!" she commented, handing them both a cup of coffee. "My good tastes rubbed off."

She ruffled her daughter's hair. By time she removed her hand, Ariadne was blushing. "He's not my ..." the younger female cleared her throat. "This is Arthur— the new student I told you about."

"Oh, is it?" Her mother peered in his direction, eyes shining. "Arthur, Arthur, Arthur— that's all I hear coming from her mouth these days."

Forcing the blush down, he chuckled lightly. Ariadne joined in on the nervous chuckled a second later. After the laughter died, they both quickly took a sip of their coffee to save them from further embarrassment.

"He's here to work on a project with Dom," Ariadne explained as she went behind the counter. "Would you like anything to eat?"

At the question, he shook his head. "I'm not as hungry." He then switched his gaze to the mother and gave her a nod. "I do adore your bagels, though."

If it was possible for her face to light up anymore, she did.

Clasping her hands together, she turned towards her daughter. "He wants a bagel," she informed. "Give him two. Butter?" Arthur nodded again to answer the question. "Butter," she repeated, as if Ariadne couldn't hear him directly.

As the bagels were handed over, he pulled out his wallet, but Mrs. Dutch, bless her, pushed his money away and said that it was on the house.

After a smile and a word of thanks, he headed to a table and sat down. Fortunately, Dom arrived shortly after.

Ten minutes proceeding the settling down, Dom was sharing his idea. Arthur listened in, announced his ideas, and then proceeded to simply stare at the blond male. As Dom wrote his thoughts down, the dark brunet allowed his eyes to travel over his classmate's features. When discovering that he was staring too intently, he glanced away and sipped his coffee. Dom began again shortly after.

"She wants an essay on it—"

"I can do the essay. You'll complete the construction of the project?"

The athlete agreed. "That works."

"Two pages, double spaced?"

His partner nodded, then peered up and smiled. "Looks like we're off on a good start." Giving Arthur a copy of the assignment, Dom stood up. "Well. We should ... meet again, if you want— to check on how I'm doing on my side of the project."

Arthur couldn't help but allow a smile to travel over his lips. "Sunday?"

"At two. I should be half way finished with it."

"Alright."

Their gazes lingered for a moment, then Dom cleared his throat. "I should be on my way. Later."

"Yeah, later."

As Dom left, Arthur dropped his sights to the table and grinned at the memory of their interaction. He felt his heart flutter again. His stomach churned in an equivalent way as his rapidly beating heart. Dammit, he was becoming a school girl once more.

Shaking off the moments to grin upon, he stood and gathered his items. After bidding mother and daughter a farewell, he headed back to his car. All the way from the cafe to walking into his bedroom, he was in a more cheerful mood. His fingers even drummed against his textbooks before he placed them down on his desk. And when he turned towards the mirror to return Eames' greeting, he did so without knowing that his eyes and mouth were smiling. "Hello to you, Eames!"

Like Ariadne, Mal, Lorenzo, and Houston, Eames' eyebrow shot up. "In a happy mood, aren't we? I can't imagine someone being as excited to go back to school as you."

Arthur shook his head. "I'm just having a good day. It would be helpful if you don't ruin it." He turned to his closet while the Englishman huffed.

"Darling, I strive to make your day better, not worse."

Grabbing his clothes and towel, he proceeded back to the mirror. "I trust you not to," he replied before heading into the shower.

Thirty minutes later, he climbed onto his bed and sat in front of Eames.

"Alright, Arthur. Spill."

The dark brunet pursed his lips slightly, considering whether to tell or not. Well— he had to share his happiness with someone, and someone that wasn't going to tell.

"I'm doing a project with Dom."

Eames stared at him for a few moments, then blinked. "That's it?"

"Of course."

"Is the project fun ... ?" From the sound of the Englishman's voice, Arthur could tell that he was confused.

"Not ... exactly. I'm having to write the two-page essay while Dom does the construction."

"Oh."

For some time, Eames was silent. Through the next few seconds, Arthur watched as the other's gaze flickered off him, then back, then off again. "You like the project because you're working with Dom?"

The small smile was back on the younger of the two's expression. "Yeah— yes, I suppose so. He's nice. I'm sure you two would get along well, considering that you're both into sports."

Eames was now frowning slightly, which wiped the smile off Arthur's face.

"What?"

The light brunet shook his head. "Nothing. Just tired. Thought you died." A faint smile displayed on Eames' lips when Arthur laughed lightly at the comment.

"I had to meet Dom to discuss the project. You should get sleep if you don't want to die."

The Britishman nodded. "Yeah. Talk to you later."

With that, Eames turned and disappeared, leaving Arthur's reflection behind.

For the next few hours, he completed his homework and ate dinner. Now, at eight, he was sitting around, thumbing through his textbook while repeatedly peering up at the mirror to see if Eames had appeared.

He hadn't.

A frown collected on Arthur's face.

Was there a reason why the other didn't get enough sleep? He didn't appear in the morning, which gave Arthur the idea that he had been sleeping. Maybe he stayed up all night doing something— like watching him, which was naturally creepy. He would need to bring up that topic again, just to make sure that Eames wasn't doing that. But for now, he needed to get ready for bed.

Promptly at nine, he slid back in between his sheets and turned to face the mirror.

Eames still wasn't there.

Arthur would have worried, but he canceled out his worry with the fact that the opposing figure could be sleeping, and so it wasn't the best idea to wake him up.

* * *

When he awoke the next morning, there was an unfamiliar silence that lingered in the air. There wasn't the same greeting that he had gotten use to. There wasn't even shallow breathing that would indicate that Eames was up. Maybe the other was really knocked out from lack of sleep, but even he can't imagine someone sleeping that much. Nevertheless, he waved the thought aside.

The day proceeded on as normal.

At the lunch table, Arthur found himself quieter than usual. He ate his lunch and blinked at what his friends were saying; in the corner of his mind, he kept wondering if Eames disappeared for good or not. But it wasn't like him to worry. Well, _'worry' _wouldn't be the correct terminology. He was just _concerned_ and _curious_.

And speaking of Eames—

"Mal, can I have a word after lunch?"

The brunette female glanced up from talking to Dom about something. "Sure," she replied with a grin. "What about?"

Arthur's eyes darted away. "Something involving a mirror," he responded, finishing his banana. His gaze soon slid back to her once he tuned in on the silence.

She was staring at him. "A mirror?" she asked briskly.

The student nodded. He then watched as she excused herself from the table and gestured him to follow.

Bidding a _'pardon me' _to the others, he stood and quickly tailed her out. Once in the hallway, she backed him into a wall.

"A mirror," she repeated, her dark eyes boring into Arthur's.

The young male pressed himself against the wall to give him breathing room.

"Eames— he told me to ask you about him, and—"

"So you're the one that moved into my old house! Did Eames give you a scare?"

Arthur cleared his throat and nodded slightly. "A bit. He's ... lively, I can say at the very least."

"Can you see him, though?"

Arthur knew where this was heading at, and he didn't want to answer, but the stare Mal was giving him urged him to tell the truth. "Yes ... ?"

She brightened automatically. "Did he tell you about the fairy tale?"

"And the kiss to get out," he completed irritably, "yes."

She took a step back and patted his shoulder. "You're perfect for him."

Arthur couldn't believe it. "What?"

Mal leaned in slightly. "What's the most memorable thing he said to you?"

"Uh ... he hadn't showered in six years?"

"Besides that," she waved off. "That he use to bully students, and now he's in love with me."

Mal clasped her hands together. "He's growing up," she gushed. "So, are you—"

"No," Arthur replied sharply, glaring.

Her expression fell a bit. "Oh. Okay. Well, how long are you going to stay in the house?"

"Pardon?"

"When do you think you're moving out?"

He frowned. "Not anytime soon."

"In that case ... is it possible that I can talk to him? Cellphone on speaker?"

Arthur shrugged slightly. "Fine by me, though, he's been sleeping since six last night. He should be up by this afternoon, though."

"Alright. I'll get your number from Dom."

She passed him a smile before heading back into the cafeteria.

— **ox — xo —**

Arthur arrived home hours later. He wasn't in the best of moods, considering that apparently, the bullying wasn't completely gone. Someone had called out "_hey, gaywad_!" behind him, but he didn't turn back to see if the other was shouting at him or not. Because he didn't know who it was directing to, he wasn't as upset over it. It, after all, wasn't as bad as the other things that had happened to him.

Shaking those thoughts from his head, he called out a greeting to his parents. When he didn't receive a response, he assumed that they were both out. Not caring much about being alone, Arthur continued up to his bedroom.

It was still quiet.

Placing his backpack down on the ground, he paced towards the mirror.

Eames was still gone.

"Eames," he called out, gently tapping the mirror. When he didn't get a response, he frowned. "Eames," he repeated, peering closely at his reflection as if he could see the mirroring world. He couldn't. "I talked to Mal about you. She'll be calling to talk—"

"What did she say about me?"

Arthur nearly jumped out of his skin. His heart hopped to his throat when Eames suddenly appeared in his sights and spoke. Clenching his chest, he backed against the bed. "At least give me a warning!" he huffed, echoing the familiar words from before.

Eames wasn't grinning, though. His oceanic eyes were fixed on him with some sort of determination, and truthfully, Arthur felt fear beginning to grip him.

"She just asked me questions, and then she asked to talk go him—"

Just as he said that, his pocket vibrated. Using that as an excuse to look away, the dark brunet glanced down to his hand, which was fishing the phone out. Flipping it open, once it was out, he placed it against his ear.

"Arthur speaking."

"Hey, Arthur. It's Mal. Is he up?"

The young student's gaze flickered to Eames, who was peering at him intently. "He's up."

"May I—"

"Yeah, sure. Hold on."

Drawing the phone from being pressed against his ear, he placed it on speaker and set it on the bed.

"It's on speaker," he announced.

"Thanks, Art. Eames— can you hear me okay?"

From the side, Arthur watched as the sour face on the Englishman faded into a soft smile. He couldn't help but frown in response to Eames' reaction to Mal's voice.

"Yeah, I can hear you. How are you?"

"I'm great. How's Arthur treating you?"

Eames didn't meet his eye. "He likes to beat me," the Britishman chuckled.

Mal laughed along. "Sounds like you two became friends."

"You could say that."

At that moment, Arthur excused himself and backed out of the bedroom. As he proceeded down the hallway, the voice of the two gradually got softer and softer until they weren't recognizable. By then, he was downstairs, peering in the fridge to see what he could snack on. He settled on an apple.

After washing it and peeling off the core, then cutting it to smaller slices, he bit into one and allowed the sweet juice to flow down his throat. He chewed thoughtfully, then swallowed.

He vaguely wondered what Mal and Eames were talking about, but he knew very well that eavesdropping wasn't something he should conduct. He would just have to ask either of them later, but he doubted, for some reason, that Eames would tell him exactly what they said. Mal as well. They were probably talking about him, and Arthur wasn't one to appreciate being spoken about behind his back, even if it was good news.

He took another bite of the remaining five slices and leaned against the kitchen counter. His mind whirled with thoughts about the two continuously. If Eames used to fancy the female, then it should be easy for him to fall in love with her again, no? And Mal— well, Arthur could only hope that she would return the emotion, else, he would be back at point one.

It wasn't like he didn't like the fellow Englishman; it was simply complicated. He enjoyed the other's presence, and because it had nearly been a month since his first encounter with the man, he found himself attracted to Eames. Just not _that_ sort of attraction. Rather, he would classify Eames as a companion and perhaps a friend, but never in the other manner. He wasn't gay, dammit. He just thought that Dom was handsome, and Eames' lips were utterly kissable. He was sure that other men his age would think the same as him too, so it wasn't a big deal.

Shrugging off the ideas, Arthur finished his last slice of the apple. After cleaning his hands, he paced upstairs and towards his bedroom. At arrival, he heard Eames' voice coming to an irruptive stop. "—doesn't understand. ... Eavesdropping are we, love? That's never a good action."

The dark brunet cleared his throat. "This is my room. I'm entering it," he returned while casting his sights on the phone. "Do you need more time alone?"

Eames shook his head. "Nah. I'm done."

From the speaker on, the young student could hear a light sigh coming from Mal. "We're fine, Arthur. I need to go now. Talk to you soon, Eames. See you Monday, Arthur."

With that, she hung up.

Of the things he noticed, the first was the fact that she didn't sound as enthusiastic as before. He peered at Eames then, as if asking for an explanation, but the other refused to give him anything. Instead, he muttered something about going to sleep again, which was a bit suspicious on Eames' part. He had been sleeping a lot lately, and another thing Arthur realized was that the Englishman wasn't behaving like himself. There must be some sort of trigger to it.

He moved towards the mirror somewhat unconsciously.

"What's wrong with you?"

"Just little things, darling." Eames offered him a small smile. "Nothing to worry about, really."

That alone made Arthur curious towards why the older route was acting like this. "What did you and Mal talk about?"

"We caught up on what happened. She had to move away because her father had gotten a job in France, but they moved back here a bit ago."

"I ... see."

For a moment, his eyes lingered on the light brunet, quietly observing the man. Eames cleared his throat moments later.

"Do you fancy Dom?"

That wasn't an expected question, yet that didn't mean that he didn't think of it. His sights darted away from the older man.

"I'm not sure," he responded, biting his lips slightly.

He had told his mother that Dom was very interesting and wholly attractive, but he also stated that it wasn't a romantic interest. Now, he was thinking that he could be wrong. That maybe he thought of Dom as— no. _No_.

Dom was just dashing, and _that was it_.

"No, I don't. He's ... attractive, but I—"

"Good. You shouldn't chase him."

Arthur frowned. "Why not?"

Eames stared at him. "Don't get caught up in him, love. He's not ... he won't be interested."

That made Arthur scowl. "He won't be interested?"

"I'm not saying that you're unattractive—"

"You know what I meant."

"I'm pretty sure that he's not attracted to you."

Arthur's brows furrowed as his lips curled up into a sneer. "What proof do you have?"

"So you do like him."

It wasn't a question, but a strong pointed sentence that drove through the young man's heart and made it pound.

"I said that I—"

"Please excuse me while I go take a nap."

Before Arthur could stop him, Eames disappeared and left behind his reflection in the mirror.

Now, Arthur was sure that something was wrong. He wasn't sure if Dom played a part in it or not. Through the smiles given and the tired, but yet, soft cheerful tone, he was sure that Eames was angry. Arthur could almost see it flash across the man's face when he said "_so you do like him_". Seconds ago, he wasn't sure what sort of emotion flickered across, but now, he placed it as bitter anger.

With that being settled, he could now conclude that Dom obviously played a part in the new Eames. Usually, Arthur wasn't a better, but at the moment, he could almost say that it was jealousy. That was the only explanation to Eames' change of personality. Was the other man jealous that Arthur was spending more time with Dom rather than him? It was a possibility, but he doubted it would be something like that. After all, Eames had spent six years in the mirror; those that talked to him, including Mal, probably had gone out often as well. Maybe because he said that Dom was attractive, and Eames felt compared? That would be logical, yes, but was that enough to make the Englishman distant? Perhaps. He needed a straightforward answer, and from the looks of it, Eames wasn't going to give it to him.

With a frustrated sigh, he shoved the thoughts out of his head and focused on the essay he had to do for the project.

For the remainder of the day and Saturday, Eames didn't make a presence. Arthur found himself wondering what exactly was going through the other's head. Could he be dying or something along those lines? If that was the case, then surely he would be informed, yes? He couldn't help but become concerned, though. Yet, his concern disappeared when Sunday rolled around.

At midday, he took a shower and groomed himself. He tried to look as if he didn't spend nearly an hour getting ready, but he ended up in a button up, slacks, and his hair gelled back as normal. After grabbing his rough draft (which was front and back and barely edited over), he ushered out the door.

He proceeded to drive to Dom's house, feeling a bit funny on the inside as he got there. Upon arrival, he rang the doorbell and waited. During the wait, he began critiquing himself; _why_ had he worn this button up? It was a puke green. That wasn't a very fanciable color. And his shoes needed shining.

Seconds later, the door opened, making Arthur's gaze snap from his shoes to the person who opened the door. His heart stopped for a moment when his eyes locked on Dom in shorts and nothing else.

"Sorry, mate. Just got out of the shower," Dom apologized, slipping on his shirt while stepping aside. "Come in."

Arthur did, but in a bit of a daze. As the door closed behind him, he returned to reality. Shaking his head from the thoughts, he peered around, judging.

"Nice place," he commented, his mouth dry.

Dom threw him a grin. "Thanks. Ma made me clean it when I told her that you were coming over today. She'll be back in an hour." He began walking up the stairs. "The project's almost done," Dom called over his shoulder, gesturing him to follow.

Arthur immediately became the blond male's shadow.

"Took me a hell of a time, though." A dry chuckle left the athlete as he entered a room.

Without word, Arthur followed. He stopped, though, two steps into the room. Compared to his own, Dom's was smaller and cramped. His desk was messy with paper, folders, and binders. To the side, at the very edge of said desk, was what appeared to be a rough draft of the project.

Dom stood beside it. "I just don't get what Mr. Miles' talking about, and Mal refuses to do it for me because she thinks that her father would find out."

Arthur strolled over and peered at the _thing_ on Dom's desk.

He blinked. "Well," he drawled, finally talking. "You're missing the base."

"Wha ... shit," Dom cursed. "No wonder it wouldn't stay up." The blond straightened up and folded his arms across his chest. Arthur copied the movements.

There was a torn silence between in which Arthur stared at the project and then came to a conclusion that—

"Do I have to start over?"

"Yeah."

Dom groaned. "You're serious?"

"It wouldn't work without the base."

The other cursed again.

Arthur let his arms fall to his side as he grabbed the folder that he had placed down on the desk on top of stacks of various papers. "I could ... do the project, if you want."

"I suppose I'll do the essay?"

"I already did— but it's a rough draft." He pulled out the piece of paper and handed it to the other male.

His partner skimmed it. "This is ... wow. Did you use a thesaurus?"

Arthur couldn't tell if that was an insult or a compliment, but he shook his head. "Just out of my brain. I'll work on the project, and you can proofread my paper?" That wasn't much of a fair deal, but he knew that Dom was involved in sports and such. That did take away precious time.

"It's alright. I'll just start again—"

"I insist." Besides, Arthur needed the grade. "I'll start on it tonight. We can work on it during the week. What days are you busy?"

"I usually go to Ariadne's on Wednesday with the group. You should join us when you have the time. I have soccer practice this Friday."

Arthur scrolled over the days of the week before nodding. "Monday, Tuesday, and Thursday seem fine. It should be done by Friday. It's due next Monday, right?"

Dom glanced at his instruction sheet. "Yeah, Monday." His gaze drew away from the sheet and landed back on Arthur. "Sorry for making you do all the work."

Arthur smiled faintly. "It's nothing, really."

— **ox — xo —**

The _'nothing' _proved to be _'something' _when Arthur settled down and got started. It was Sunday night, and he was staring at the supplies he had to buy in order to complete the project. The base, which Dom didn't do at all, since the instructions were all on the other side of the page, was complicated. Arthur struggled making it for an hour before he finally grasped hold of how, and by time he was half way finished, it was already time to wash up and head to bed.

Monday afternoon didn't prove easier. In fact, it was harder.

Dom had came over and was now seated next to him, peering intently as Arthur glued a carefully carved shape onto another that was centered on the base. It would have been easier if not for the fact that Dom was inches away from him.

In the end, Arthur managed to secure the shape in before sitting back, tired. Dom laughed softly at him, then reached over and grabbed another shape. Arthur watched, very amused, as Dom tried to copy his movements. Apparently, it didn't come out the same.

Tuesday afternoon, they had an easier job in gluing the shapes in the correct places.

By time Thursday rolled around, they were finished in time for dinner.

Arthur leaned back against the chair and breathed in relief. Dom laid on the floor. After a bit of silence, Arthur spoke up. "You should stay for dinner. Mother won't mind. She loves guests." He peered down and grinned at his classmate.

Dom gazed up at him. "It's fine. I don't want to bother again."

"Oh, no. It's not a bother. Mother fancies your company, really. It's usually quiet during the dinner between us and father, so you're generally welcomed."

Dom rolled onto his back and placed both hands under his head to shield it from the hard floor. "How can I refuse? Your mother's food is delicious."

Arthur beamed again. "The best of the best," he answered.

Dom smiled.

For a few more seconds, they didn't talk, but when the silence was broken, it was with a subject he dreaded.

"What happened between you and your mother? You two seem ... distant."

The young brunet glanced away at the sound of that. It was the same question Eames had asked a week or two ago. Back then, he wanted the subject gone. Now, he felt as if he could tell. His eyebrows drew towards each other slightly.

"You don't need to tell me if you don't want to," Dom said almost moments later.

Arthur leaned against the desk and closed his eyes. "It's ... fine. Mother and I just don't get along as well."

"Is there a specific reason?"

"I rather not talk about it."

"Oh. Okay. Sorry."

Silence again.

Arthur exhaled slowly. "She's my step-mother," he said after a minute or two of the irritating silence.

The corner of his mouth twitched at the mention of _step-mother_. He hadn't thought or even used that word in the longest of time. It felt foreign on his tongue; it even seemed foreign to picture his current mother as not the one that gave birth to him.

"Oh," was the response given to him.

Arthur had wanted more than the pity _'oh'_, but he didn't strive for it. Instead, he stood up and forced a smile at the other man. "Dinner should be ready, come on."

Dom got to his feet, looking rather awkward, but returned his smile in the end. They made their way down the stairs and into the dining room. The table was already set up, but his mother was in the kitchen cooking. Arthur started to sit down, but he knew that that was rude gesture.

After conducting his classmate to sit, the dark brunet paced towards the kitchen. He peeked in. "Do you mind if Dom stays for dinner?"

His mother glanced up from her cooking. "Oh, not at all."

Arthur should have ended the whole entire conversation there, but he didn't want to be seen worthless. "Do you need any help?" he asked tentatively.

She had turned back to the stove, but she made her request anyways. "Can you take the dishes to the table? And call your father."

Following the orders, he served the plates to the table while sharing a smile with the athlete every time he appeared with a dish in his hand. After the fifth plate was placed down, he informed the blond that he was going to find his father. Once the opposing male nodded, understanding, Arthur went on his way to find his fatherly figure.

He was found upstairs.

"I'll be right down." It was the same reply his father gave to everyone, and by now, Arthur knew that meant _'give me at least half an hour more'_, so he left it at that and returned to the dining table. He took the seat next to Dom as his mother settled in the one diagonal of him. They started feasting, no one asking where his father was. Five minutes in, Dom began the talk.

"Your food is delicious. Have you considered becoming a chef?"

Arthur watched as his mother flushed.

"Thank you, Mr. Cobb, and yes, I have actually considered that." Well, Arthur just learned something today. "I just don't have the time."

Arthur didn't even know what she did. All he knew was that his mother was a house wife. He knew his father had a job with the company producing coffee, but as far as his knowledge, his mother stayed at home and cooked, cleaned, and that was basically it.

"Oh, well. My mother works for a restaurant. They might be hiring."

His mother's lips curved into a smile, making her look younger and lovelier. "I'll have to decline. I have too much in my hand. But perhaps Arthur can take up a job ad a waiter."

Dom's gaze settled on him. "I can see that. How about it?"

Arthur managed a small grin. "I'll think about it."

In reality, he didn't want a job. It would take up too much of his time, and not to mention, he would be tired on most nights.

"Alright." Dom flashed him another heartwarming grin before turning back to his mother. "I happen to notice your garden ..."

And that subject alone carried through until the time in which his father came in. The topic took an irruptive turn to universities and colleges, and then to work after his and Dom's graduation. Dom mentioned something along the lines of being a pharmacist, which made Arthur lie. Instead of admitting that he wanted to be a literature teacher, he stated that he was thinking about becoming an accountant or a technician. Those jobs seemed to satisfy his father.

When dinner was through, Arthur was a bit reluctant to let Dom go home, but nonetheless, he bid his farewell.

— **ox — xo —**

His heart was in flutters as he stepped out of the shower fresh and clean and slid in bed. A smile danced across his lips as he snuggled within the blankets. As his eyes closed, Dom somehow strolled into his empty mind. Before, he had repeatedly told himself to stop thinking about the blond athlete all together, but he found that, the more he tried to stop himself from thinking about his classmate, the more he did think about him. At this point, he allowed his mind to run freely. He knew he was becoming more and more like the blushing school girl. That needed to be stopped.

Unfortunately, it wasn't as easy.

Along came Saturday, he received a phone call from Dom asking if he could come over to show him the final report. Having nothing to do, he accepted.

Ten minutes later, he greeted his classmate and led him to the bedroom. There, Dom handed him the essay. Arthur seated himself on the edge of the bed and read his writing in Times New Roman print. There wasn't much corrections— just indents and whatnot.

He nodded in approval. "Looks good to me." He handed it back to the soccer player, who took it back and glimpsed over it. "Does this still look fair to you?" Arthur continued, gesturing at the completed project.

Dom placed the essay down and peered at the built shapes.

Seconds later, he drew back and shared another grin with Arthur. "Looks fantastic."

As the blond turned back to the project, Arthur took that moment to survey Dom once more. The blond male looked simply angelic.

His eyes tore away as he bit his lip. He needed to stop thinking of the other in this manner. They were better off as friends. And Dom wasn't interested, like Eames said.

The thought of that made his heart clench. The feeling was painful. Too painful.

He closed his eyes and heaved a sigh.

When he opened his sights once more, he found Dom staring at him.

"Something wrong?"

Arthur forced a smile. "Nothing. Just stress."

The other squinted at him.

Arthur glanced away.

"Relax, Arthur," Dom soothed, leaning towards him. "Our project is fine. It's much better than what I can do alone."

The brunet gazed back and locked eyes with Dom. For the first second, he froze and stared. A second later, he had leaned forward, and without thinking, pressed his lips against Dom's. His stomach suddenly churned as his heartbeat increased in speed.

His eyes were closed. He melted into the kiss, but only for a moment.

Dom jerked back and stood up quickly. "I ... I don't feel the same way, Arthur. Sorry." Not meeting his eye, his classmate made a brisk move out of the room and house.

Arthur wanted to scream and cry, but anger flashed over him— anger that he did something so _stupid_. He had taken it way too fast. He _should have_ listened to Eames.

Scowling, he flopped back onto his bed. As he did, he caught a sight from the corner of his eye, but when he glanced over, it was gone. He continued staring though, somewhat in shock, at the mirror reflecting himself.

He could have sworn that he just saw Eames. The Englishman wasn't smiling again, but he wasn't frowning either. Eames' eyes were dabbed with what seemed to be tears.


	8. Chapter 8

**Warning;** alternate universe, supernatural, teen! Arthur, lolangst, one-sided Arthur/Cobb, Cobb/Mal

**Disclaimer;** if only, ohoho ~

**Author's Notes;** Thank you, once more, for all the lovely reviews. I hope these next few chapters please you. c: And I apologize for being a day late, but FF wasn't letting me login/upload things yesterday. 8C

* * *

The next day being Sunday was a good and bad thing; it's good, because he didn't need to deal with Dom's reaction and all, but it's bad because he's now faced with why Eames was tearing up.

Arthur was pretty sure that he had it figured out, since, after all, he nearly stayed up all night dwelling on what had happened.

Eames was obviously jealous, and the words from before proved that**—** but Arthur didn't believe the confession. It seemed like kids' play, but the Englishman was acting as if they had known each other for years.

He shook his head from the thoughts.

Eames would simply need to suck it up.

It was just a simple kiss**—** a simple kiss that he wished was extended, but at the same time, he regretted it. Dom would probably feel awkward around him now, and truthfully, Arthur wasn't going to blame him. He knew that, when he returned to school Monday, he would be awkward around the athlete as well. Something like this wouldn't go ignored.

He didn't want to face that. Maybe it was best if he took Monday off, but his parents wouldn't approve and he wouldn't have anything to do, since now, Eames wasn't talking to him.

Reverting his thoughts back to Eames, Arthur bit his bottom lip. He thought about apologizing, but apologizing for what? He didn't do anything wrong. Sure, he may have shared a kiss with Dom, but it wasn't anything but a peck. And Dom didn't even return it.

His eyes squeezed close at that thought.

It hurt**—** the dreadful clench in his chest. He shouldn't have acted on his emotions. He should have left it alone. He should have**—** he should have listened to Eames. But at the time, the Britishman was spitting out what seemed to be lies, seeing that they were trying to draw him _away_ from Dom. Now, they sounded like actual warnings.

Arthur groaned and ran his hand through his hair. He tugged on his locks, frustrated. He wasn't suppose to get into this sort of situation. This was a sole reason why he shouldn't date or look into someone during his schooling years. Surely, this would screw up his grades**—** his math one, especially. And now, he needed to get use to silence.

He also told himself that it shouldn't matter**—** that Eames was just a companion he lost, just like Fischer. It shouldn't affect him. It really shouldn't, but it _did_.

If he were to blame someone, it would be his mom. Without her decision to moving here, he wouldn't have met Dom or Eames. He would have been fine with Fischer by his side. But of course, fate just had to play its game with him, and now, he was being tossed into a spiral of drama.

"Damn," the young teen whispered as he fell back on his bed to stare at the ceiling.

For this moment, he could only hope that Dom would try to ignore it. And that Eames stopped sulking or whatever he's doing, and talk to him.

That wasn't the case.

The Englishman didn't appear all of Sunday. He continued to stay absent as Arthur made his way from the bedroom to the school, Monday morning.

Arthur dreaded the entire day, his cheerfulness and enthusiasm from Thursday was wiped clean. He barely spoke a word, and fortunately, those that chose to talk to him, or usually spoke to him, caught on and didn't push him to answer unless it was absolutely mandatory.

When math rolled around, Arthur, for the first time in his life, considered skipping. He thought about hiding out in the bathroom, but in the end, he chickened out of skipping and appeared at the foot of the door just as the bell rang.

It was definitely awkward. Even though they didn't look or greet each other, Arthur just felt completely tensed while sitting beside the blond male.

Class went on as usual, but he found it hard to concentrate. He wanted to talk to Dom about what happened Saturday afternoon, and perhaps apologize for his lack of control, but he bit back any sort of apology. He shouldn't be sorry for what he feels and for trying, because that was only putting himself down more. He could only hope that the awkwardness would cease over the weeks. Yet, if each day was going this slow, Arthur was sure that he was going to go crazy sooner or later.

When lunch came, he contemplated sitting elsewhere, but Ariadne was already leading him towards the table. So he followed and sat, adverting his gaze from Dom. Instead, he caught Mal's eye.

It was obvious that Dom told her, since she was warily staring at him when he wasn't looking.

Arthur wanted to scream with frustration, but he ended up taking out his anger by stabbing his spoon into his yogurt cup.

Next to him, Ariadne asked him another one of her concerned questions.

"Are you okay?"

It was the ninth one asked today, if he wasn't mistaken.

"Fine," he answered stiffly, for the ninth time today.

On his other side, Lorenzo nudged him. "Didn't get laid?"

Arthur knew the male was joking, but the question wounded him. His jaw clenched, and he glared at his yogurt.

Lorenzo and Houston laughed.

"You'll have plenty of more chances!" Houston chortled.

Punching them both sounded like a good idea, but Arthur couldn't risk getting another suspension. One was enough, and plus, he would be dead by boredom by the end of the first day. And Eames**—**

Arthur mentally kicked himself for bringing the topic up again, but he couldn't help it.

Scowling slightly, he stood up. After excusing himself quickly, Arthur made his way out of the cafeteria.

He found himself in the restroom moments later, leaning over the sink, his face drenched with water. His eyes were closed, and he breathed unevenly.

He needed to get over himself; the situation wasn't as bad as it seemed.

Another shakey breath drew from him.

He needed to let this go; dwelling on it wouldn't be beneficial to him. He should be able to get over it; it wasn't like he imagined tying a knot with the blond athlete anyways.

Arthur shifted his body, straightening up. His eyes captured a picture of himself looking unlike himself, and the moment he saw that in the mirror's reflection, he took his eyes away. Again, he exhaled to calm his system. Once he deemed himself worthy to walk back, he made his way out of the boys' bathroom.

Unfortunately, for him, there stood Mal, obviously waiting to talk to him. He wanted to turn back and disappear behind the walls separating the bathroom and the hallway, but it was much too late; Mal had already spotted him.

"Dom told me," she stated simply, sauntering forward.

Arthur froze in his place, watching her as she drew close.

"Didn't Eames warn you?"

His mouth ran dry.

She leered even closer. "I understand your crush, since I was once in your position, but Dom and I ... we're in a relationship."

Arthur told himself that he should have figured that out; he scolded himself for not knowing before. Wasn't it obvious? Apparently not to him, since he had focused solely on Dom above other troubles the past few weeks.

"I'm not saying that you should stay away, Arthur. I really have no problem, but he feels awkward, as you can tell, now that he realized your feelings for him."

The young male tore his sights away. He felt ashamed, and he began to regret ever touching lips with Dom.

"Arthur**—**"

"I apologize," he murmured. "I acted on my emotions without thought."

She sighed in response. "It's understandable. I'm just wondering, though, how did Eames react?"

At the sound of the name, Arthur's gaze snapped back to Mal, and he frowned. "He's being dramatic."

"Please elaborate."

Arthur hesitated for a moment, then answered. "We're not talking."

"I see."

Mal appeared deep in thought for a while.

Arthur could have used that time to escape, but for some reason, he stayed rooted in his spot. He was awaiting her reply, and it was an expected reply.

"He really does like you. Most of our conversation that day revolved around you. Call it puppy love, but I can tell that he has strong feelings for you."

Arthur exhaled slowly once more. He wanted to approach this in a non-offending and bashing way, but his tone was still stiff.

"He can get over it, just as I can get over Dom." His brow drew towards each other. "He's acting like an ass."

"That's what jealousy does to people, but Arthur, look at me." She grabbed his shoulders, forcing him to meet her eyes. "He won't get over it as easily. Though he's human, he's one in a mirror. And being trapped in there for more than six years, he's desperate. Except, this time, he sounds sincere. He thinks you're the one."

"He got over you, didn't he? He told me that he fancied you as well. What makes this time different?"

Her lips pressed into a thin line for a moment. She removed the grasp from his shoulder. "I don't know."

When she glanced away, Arthur took that ad a cue to move. "Exactly. It's no different," he answered before brushing her aside and making his way back to the cafeteria.

The day continued to drag on. He barely spoke to any members of his little group. He even made a mad dash to his car to avoid walking with Ariadne. By time he reached the house, he was already tired**—** tired of everything.

He leaned back against the seat of his car, his eyes closing. He took long breaths. They didn't help. In the end, he scrambled out of his vehicle and made his way inside.

His mother was lounging in the living room, but he didn't bother to greet her as he usually did. Instead, he continued upstairs where he continued to shut himself in.

For the first few moments, he laid on the bed, staring at the mirror.

Five minutes in, he sat up.

"Eames," he addressed, leaning slightly forward towards the mirror. "I know you're listening to me."

And sure enough, he was.

The Englishman appeared before him, this time, with a soft smile. That was more like it. "You called?"

Arthur was not impressed. "Yes," he replied hotly. "We need to talk."

The smile faltered a bit. "I'd rather not."

"We're going to talk," the dark brunet pressed.

Eames' gaze met his, and then the oceanic eyes turned away. He sighed. "Alright."

"This pining," the student started, shifting a bit, "is ridiculous. I'm speaking for myself also. I**—** we ... we need to move on."

Eames' expression is hard.

Arthur pursed his lips faintly for a second before continuing. "You'll find someone else." As the final words escaped from his mouth, silence fell between them. While he tried to analyze the Englishman's expressions, Eames was desperately trying to avoid his gaze. When their eyes met for the second time that day, it's filled with determination.

Eames nodded. "You're right. I should move on. It's obvious that you won't return my feelings." They were slightly snapped, but Arthur could very well detect the honesty in it. And for some odd reason, he didn't like it. It was as if he didn't want to hear that**—** that he wanted Eames to continue chasing him.

He didn't pay much attention to this new arrival of emotion, though. Waving it aside, he nodded back, locking the agreement.

Eames eased into another smile, and it was some sort of hurtful smile. Happiness was shown at the lips, but at the eyes, it told a completely different story. Arthur could tell that his words hurt the other, but it was too late to take them back now.

"How was your day?" By the tone alone, Arthur could tell that Eames was forcing the question out, which probably meant that the other had no intentions of talking to him. In return, Arthur also had the same feeling. They had nothing to talk about, and if they did, he didn't feel up to it.

"Fair."

Eames nodded slightly, accepting that as an answer.

As silence continued to linger between them, the young student eventually glanced away, and when he turned back, the Englishman was gone.

The day proceeded at a timely manner; it wasn't long before the arrival of the next day.

Tuesday morning, he really did dread school. For one, he had learned the previous day that Mal and Dom were in a relationship, and secondly, he had ignored almost everyone yesterday. Surely, if they didn't ask him why he was acting this way, then they would ignore him in return. That wasn't really bad, but it was probably going to make him feel unwanted.

First period science, Ariadne didn't greet him as cheerfully, but she did ask how he was feeling and then told him that she didn't see him after school yesterday.

Arthur merely shrugged it off, passed off his feelings as '_fine_', and continued on with the day.

When math approached, he came into class at the last minute again, since he was contemplating whether or not to go. He couldn't force himself to skip class, though, so here he was.

Dom didn't glance in his direction or greeted him. It was when Arthur decided that enough was enough did he turn to the blond athlete.

"What grade do you think we made for the project?" he questioned.

Dom shifted slightly and peered up in his direction. "Hopefully a passing grade." Though the words didn't seem like it was hinting at a conversation, Arthur accepted the answer.

He nodded. "Yeah, hopefully."

He then turned back towards the instructor.

The next time either of them spoke was after math class. Dom had gotten up while Arthur was packing up. When the blond was standing next to his bed, the dark brunet glanced up.

"About Saturday**—**" Dom started hastily, but Arthur cut him off abruptly by standing up and collecting his books and notebooks into his arms.

"It's fine. Mal told me everything. I ... I'm moving on."

For a fleeting second, their eyes met, then the athlete nodded. "Alright. I wanted to make sure, since we didn't talk a lot, and you're a valuable friend."

The slightest smile passed on Arthur's lips, though the pain within his chest clenched and made appearance. "Likewise."

Dom offered him a small smile that simply made his heart flutter. "See you at lunch, yeah?"

"Yeah, see you."

As the blond ushered out of the door, Arthur lingered at his step a bit.

Their relationship, at the moment, seemed fine. Dom was talking to him again, and that lifted his spirits a bit. He made his way to his next period, and then to lunch when time arrived for it. As he sat down, he felt Mal's wary gaze on him. Dom didn't look up to acknowledge him. Tadashi was peering in another direction, completely ignoring those at the table. The rest were in the lunch line.

Arthur sat down in front of Tadashi and cleared his throat to get attention.

Dom looked over at him.

"Hey," started Arthur.

"Hey," came the reply, but that was basically it.

They ate in silence for a bit until the three others arrived. Ariadne took a seat on Arthur's left while Lorenzo fought Houston for the seat next to him. In the end, Lorenzo won, and he sat down in the seat with glee. Arthur couldn't help but be amused at their bicker. Ariadne, on the other hand, nudged him.

"Do you want my apple?" she asked after taking note of his own lunch which consisted of nothing more than water and a sandwich.

"I'm fine," he answered, then quickly added "thanks anyways" just so he didn't sound rude.

Silence fell between the seven, but it was broken not two moments later by Houston.

"Why are we quiet? We're never quiet."

"Something happened," Lorenzo piped up.

Arthur glanced at Mal's and Dom's direction to see their response.

Both were unaffected.

"So ... are we meeting at Ari's cafe tomorrow?"

"I have**—**" started Dom in answer to Houston's question, but Ariadne leaned over.

"Yes, we are." Her gaze then shot at Arthur. "_We _are," she stressed, as if Arthur was about to make an excuse.

— **ox — xo —**

Turned out, the meeting wasn't as horrible. Through the school day Wednesday morning and afternoon, Mal had began to speak again, and gradually, the lunch table filled with chatter. At the cafe, though, Arthur was one of the first to arrive. Ariadne wasn't there, but Mal and Tadashi was. Arthur could have stayed in his car, but he decided not to. He dismissed himself from his vehicle and walked in.

"Arthur! How nice to see you again!" It was Ariadne's mother, looking as excited as she was the first time they met.

The brunet student eased into a smile. "And to you as well, Mrs. Dutch."

"Quite the gentleman, aren't you? Would you like a bagel or two?"

He shook his head in response. "I'm just here for the ... gathering." He glanced over at the table where Mal was looking at him from, then turned back to the motherly figure. "Thank you, though."

"Well, bagel or not, you're still going to have a feast. Sit. I'll be out with your drinks. What do you want**—** coke? Coffee?"

"Plain water will do."

"Alright, then."

With a smile, Mrs. Dutch scrambled away, leaving Arthur behind to make a decision whether to wait or go over to the table now. After careful consideration, he made up his mind and walked over to the table where Mal and Tadashi were seated. Instead of looking at him with her beady, dark eyes, Mal smiled.

"Look who's here at last," she announced, making the other dark haired boy sitting at the table look up. Tadashi didn't greet him, and instead, returned his gaze to the music player that was set on the table.

"Sit," Mal ordered, patting the seat next to her.

Arthur became hesitant; he wasn't exactly sure whether or not to take the seat there or beside Tadashi. He seemed safer on the junior's side rather than Mal's side. The slight narrow of eyes proved this. Nevertheless, he waved off the fear and hesitation and sat down next to the female.

She beamed. "The others should be arriving**—** ah, there's Ariadne and Yusuf."

Arthur glanced over his shoulder to see the pair enter the cafe.

Ariadne was laughing at what the waiter had said, and Yusuf himself was chuckling. When their eyes met the ones at the table, Ariadne ushered over. "Arthur, you've met Yusuf, right?" she chirped, gesturing Yusuf over.

Arthur nodded twice. "On the first day I moved here." He extended a hand at Yusuf's direction. "A pleasure, Yusuf. Your cappuccinos are amazing."

The man, looking fresh out of high school, but perhaps a bit older, grinned and shook his hand. "Thank you, sir. Would you like me to make you another?"

"Mrs. Dutch already took my order."

"Ah, that woman. That's suppose to be my job."

"Well," Ariadne drawled out, "if you weren't fifteen minutes late, then you would have been serving us."

Yusuf sniffed. "My car broke down."

Ariadne rolled her eyes. "As you say," she replied before sliding into the seat next to Arthur.

The waiter huffed. "Anything else for you four, then?" he asked.

Mal, sitting on Arthur's right, leaned over, her brown hair brushing his cheek slightly. He sat back to avoid more of the fluttered touches. "Bagels would be nice, and the usual." She grinned, which put Arthur at ease.

"Alright; coming right up!" With that, the man turned and headed towards the back.

It wasn't long after that did the others arrive. Dom quickly snatched the seat next to Mal, while Lorenzo and Houston surrounded Tadashi on both ends.

Here, the conversation was easy to start and less awkward, even though Ariadne, Lorenzo, Houston, and Mal did most of the talking. Arthur was trying to refrain from looking over at Dom, so he was rather thankful when the bagels and drinks arrived. As he bit into the warm bread, he shared a look with Dom, but it was only for a split second. The blond had resumed having a small conversation with Mal and Houston, but twenty minutes later, he was engaged in a conversation with the entire table. Arthur thought the atmosphere was rather nice then. He threw in a few of his responses and received replies to them.

They talked about various things; school, the glitchy weather, what they were going to do for the weekend and holidays, and so forth. Out of the latest subjects, Arthur learned that Mal was traveling out of the town over Fall Break, and Tadashi, Lorenzo, Ariadne, Mal, and Dom were going to be out of town Winter Break**—** which meant that he would be left behind with Houston. It wasn't as if that was bad; he was sure that he would need to visit family over Christmas as well. If that was the case, then Houston would be the only one in Limbo.

Shaking his head from the thoughts, Arthur tuned back into the conversation the group and Yusuf, who had taken the spot on the other side of Lorenzo, held.

They were talking about their future. Ariadne, Yusuf, and Dom hoped to settle down with kids. Mal wanted to travel the world. Houston and Lorenzo wanted to run and strip club, and Tadashi, well, he decided being a Walmart greeter would be the easiest job. When it was Arthur's turn to speak his thoughts, he merely shrugged and repeated what the first three said.

But as he thought of before, he didn't want children. They were much too bothersome and would involve a female in order for the baby to be born, anyways. Then again, he could adopt, but what was the point? He'd rather live without them. If his parents wanted someone to pass down the family name and line, then they might as well have another child.

Just not when he's around.

The mere thought of that made him cringe, which made Ariadne quirk a brow.

"You don't like steak?"

Oh, they were moving onto the topic of food, now?

He blinked. "I like steak," he stated.

"Lookie here! I'm Ariadne, and I'm a vegetarian!" Houston mimicked.

The female sitting on Arthur's left reached over and smacked the boy. A few around laughed at such sight. Ariadne grinned.

"So. Do vegetarians eat animal crackers?" Lorenzo asked.

"I've never tried one before**—**"

"Technically, vegetarians don't eat meat," Arthur piped up.

"Jellyfish don't have meat," Houston shot back.

"No one eats jellyfish, though," Dom murmured not too far away.

Tadashi raised his head from peering down at his music player. "I eat jellyfish," he stated dully.

Arthur couldn't help but steal a glance in the blond athlete's direction. Dom was recovering from choking on water. Mal helped him by patting his back and soothing him.

Arthur didn't like the sight at all. How was it that Dom preferred Mal over him? Maybe because she was a female and quite stunning? It was a possibility. Arthur had to remind himself that not everyone within the world was homosexual. Then again, he himself was supposed to be heterosexual in order to meet his parent's requirements. And Ariadne did look very pretty**—** but he considered her no more than a companion, a friend. It would be awkward to have his arm around her and whatnot.

His gazed snapped away from Mal's hand on Dom's back. He tried to ignore it by repeatedly telling himself that the two were in a relationship, but he ended up having his jaw clenched.

It had been four days since the incident, and still, he had not gotten over it yet**—** well, actually, he had, but he hadn't gotten over the fact that Mal and Dom were _together_.

Arthur hadn't expected them as a couple either. He still thought that Dom was bisexual or something, because a man as beautiful as Dom couldn't be straight. Or maybe he wasn't straight, and he was just not attracted to Arthur. Maybe Dom liked some other male like Houston or someone and covered it up by dating Mal. That was somewhat the plan Arthur had before when he had thoughts about dating Ariadne in order to make his parents happy and give him the view that he wasn't homosexual. Or perhaps Dom did feel something back, and he was just new to the feeling and**—** _no_.

He needed to keep his mind from these thoughts. He didn't want to convince himself that he could have a chance, when really, in reality, he didn't. If Dom liked him, then he would come to him. If he didn't, then Arthur should let him go and find someone else more suitable. After all, there were, he was sure, many other beautiful men in the world. They just didn't go to his school.

"Arthur. You there? Come back down to Earth, Arthur. _Arthuuur_."

Snapping away from his trance, the young brunet shot a look in Houston's direction while batting away the hand that waved in front of his face.

"You're daydreaming a lot. Who is it?"

Arthur blinked at Lorenzo's question, letting it seep in slowly. When it finally did, he tried to wave it off as nothing to worry about. "English essay is due tomorrow. My printer broke down." It wasn't a lie; his printer actually did break down, but that didn't mean that he couldn't email it to his teacher.

"You can use mine," Ariadne chirped. "Or you can send it to me and I'll print it out."

"It's fine, Ariadne. I'll just think of another**—**"

"No, I insist. I'll have it to you by first period tomorrow." She smiled at him, as if she just made a promising statement.

Arthur nodded slightly. "Alright, thanks." He managed a small smile before glancing away and sipping his water.

When he sat back, his eyes caught Houston's, but a moment later, they were darted aside. Waving it off as nothing, Arthur glazed back towards Yusuf.

"You said you graduated from Limbo High School?"

The waiter nodded. "A few years ago, actually."

Interesting.

"Did you hear about Eames' disappearance?" As he asked that question, he felt Mal shifting beside him. She was definitely listening. On the other hand, Ariadne wasn't as observing as the female senior.

"Why are you interested in the disappearance of Eames?" she questioned.

Arthur managed a shrug. "Seemed interesting; it was the biggest case from Limbo, after all."

Luckily, Ariadne accepted that as an answer.

His attention then drew back to Yusuf.

"Oh, yes. He was actually one of my best mates. Fresh from England."

"Oh." Arthur quickly conjured up the information he had gathered on the other male. "And Nash," he began, but Yusuf spoke up before he could continue.

"Ah, Nash. We were friends once. Then, he moved to somewhere unknown. Didn't tell anyone."

"When did he move?"

"I don't know. I don't keep up with him, but it was my senior year when he disappeared, I think."

"I see." Arthur glanced over at Mal to see what she was making out of this. Though she was warily stirring the ice cubes in her coke, Arthur could tell that she was thinking.

About what, though? Yusuf wasn't giving him much information. He didn't even seem like he knew a lot anyways. Unless he was in the group that Eames dragged along to beat up Nash.

"Were you on the basketball team? I read somewhere that Eames played for the junior varsity."

Yusuf shook his head and laughed. "I can't play sports worth my life." That meant that Yusuf probably didn't contain much information.

"Soccer's easy. So is basketball, tennis, and all the other sports," Lorenzo spoke.

Yusuf sniffed. "Easy because you actually know how to play sports. I never tried."

"I play volleyball," Ariadne pitched in.

"Badmin," Tadashi said a second later.

"Swim team," Mal replied.

Yusuf, in return, huffed. "You guys are making me look**—**"

"I can't play sports either," Arthur piped.

Ariadne smack his arm playfully. "I saw you playing tennis!"

Arthur threw her a look.

Yusuf groaned.

— **ox — xo —**

The gathering lasted for nearly three hours before homework approached as their subject, and with that, they departed their separate ways. Ariadne had given him her email address and reminded him to send it before nine. He agreed, and after bidding a farewell to the rest, he made his way to the car.

Once strapped in in the driver's seat, Arthur started the engine and glanced in rear view mirror to see that no one was behind his car. Instead of seeing no one, he saw a couple. Kissing. And it was Dom and Mal.

He watched, astonished and with jealousy, as their kiss continued. A moment later, they drew back and Dom turned and got in his car. If Arthur was a murderer, he would have backed up into Mal, but since he wasn't, he simply glared as she made her way to the car beside Dom's and got in.

Arthur didn't waste any time backing out and driving towards his house. On the way there, he was constantly fighting tears. He didn't want his parents or Eames, for that matter, to catch him like this. He drunk back the tears successfully, but it became harder as he parked and pulled the key out of the engine. He wanted to stay in the car and simply let go, but he don't want to risk looking ridiculous to those who could look at him through the windows, so he got out.

With his backpack slung on one shoulder and a notebook in his left hand, he quickly let himself into the house.

It was quiet. His parents weren't home. Perfect. After securing the lock, the dark brunet made a mad dash up the stairs. At the foot of his bedroom, he felt his chest tighten for a final time. His sights blurred. He dropped his backpack to the ground and placed the notebook on his desk.

Hoping that Eames was asleep, Arthur ushered towards the bathroom and shut himself in. There, he wiped the tears from his eyes and willed himself to stop thinking about Dom and Mal, but the more he tried, the more he thought about them.

He sniffed, wiping his eyes again.

He didn't dare look at the mirror. He didn't want to risk seeing how pathetic he had become simply because his heart decided to perform actions in which he didn't allow at first.

It took him nearly thirty minutes to calm down and look like he wasn't crying. He had squeezed enough tears out for the day, and really, he didn't plan to cry more.

An exhale escaped him as he dismissed himself from the bathroom. The moment he opened the door and stepped into his bedroom, though, a question greeted him.

"Are you alright?" And here, he was hoping that Eames didn't notice.

Arthur gave a slow nod as he made his way to his backpack to retrieve his homework. "I'm fine."

Eames snorted lightly. "I heard your sniffles. Don't play it off as nothing."

Arthur didn't bother to answer. He grabbed his necessary items and made his way to the bed. Once situated, the Englishman spoke to him again.

"Is it about Dom?"

The student's hand froze, hovering over the notebook.

Eames took this action for granted and continued. "I told you it wasn't a good idea."

"Shut it," Arthur murmured once he had dawned back down to Earth.

"No, Arthur, darling. Look at me. You're letting yourself get hurt. You said you'll move on."

Arthur's brows furrowed as he glared at the notebook in front of him. "I did move on," he gritted out.

"You were crying**—**"

"I had something in my eye," he snapped, raising his glare to meet Eames' oceanic eyes.

"Bullshit, love. You're not a good liar."

"And you're not a good listener. Leave me alone. I have homework to complete."

Eames' gaze narrowed on him. "I want to help you."

"I didn't ask for your help."

"But you need it."

"I don't need your help," he hissed. "Or you, for that matter."

"You keep telling yourself that, but you do need me and my help."

A frustrated sigh came from both sides.

"Look, Arthur. I care. You can tell me anything, and I won't judge. You need someone to talk to, and I'm here to hear you out."

"I appreciate your concern, but I don't need**—**"

"You're blocking me out, and you'll continue to dwell on it. Mal did tell you that she's in a relationship with Dom, right?"

At the sound of that, Arthur bit his inner cheek. He didn't want to say anything. He should probably just gather his items and move to the living room to work, but**—**

"You need to move on, love, and find someone that actually loves you back."

When Arthur raised his gaze to meet Eames' this time, he caught sight of the soft blue-green eyes. His fiery temper settled slightly as he continued to stare.

"There's someone who loves you here," Eames continued in a mere whisper. "Someone who cried watching you fall in love with someone else. Someone who still believes that you'll turn around and come back to him."

Arthur shifted slightly so that his legs were now dangling off the side of the bed.

"I'll help you forget," the other proceeded. "Give me a chance, and I'll show you."

Arthur felt breathing coming ragged to him as he slid out of bed. He felt like a puppet**—** controlled by the words coming from Eames' mouth, but he wanted no more than to believe**—** than to forget. He wanted what Mal had, but**—**

"I want to love you," Eames spoke, leaning close and placing a hand on the other side of the mirror.

Arthur didn't hesitate as he stepped forward. He didn't hesitate either when he placed his hand over Eames'. His eyes met the startling blue-green ones. He felt his heart swell. He decided then and there that he wanted to forget, that Dom wasn't worth it**—** that Eames _was_. His gaze flickered towards the lips.

"Kiss me," came the British drawl, and Arthur did.

He leaned in, his eyes closed in attempt to forget, and pressed his lips against the cool surface of the mirror.

And then**—**

Nothing happened.

There was no spark that the books talked about. There was no feeling of warmth. Nothing.

It was because he was kissing a _mirror_.

Arthur pulled back, a second later, and found himself faced with a confused, but equally teary-eyed male. No words were spoken, but the hurt in the Englishman's eyes was all he needed.

It didn't work. Nothing worked; it was the same as before. Even Eames seemed to realize this, since he backed away, looking horrified and disappointed, before disappearing from Arthur's sight.

This left the young teen alone to stare at his reflection and see what he had resorted to in just the matter of weeks.


	9. Chapter 9

**Warning;** alternate universe, supernatural, teen! Arthur, one-sided Arthur/Cobb, Cobb/Mal, OC/Arthur, homophobia, a bit of gory-news?

**Disclaimer;** fufufu, nope ~

**Author's Notes;** I could have sworn someone requested for Lorenzo and Houston to be written with Arthur more, but I can't find that review. Anyways, here's the chapter involving that. Enjoy? 8D Oh and also, I have a new fic up! The Exception of Everything, it's like ... completely different from this one. ; w;

* * *

Okay. So, nothing happened.

It shouldn't be anything big. It just meant that Mal's theory was incorrect.

There must be some other way out.

It would be easier if they found Nash and dragged that man back to get Eames out of the mirror. Least Arthur knew, though, the other could be half way around the world or dead. For now, Eames just needed to deal with it, and Arthur, well, he would have to deal with it as well.

Getting the Englishman out of the mirror wasn't his main concern; he just wanted to forget Dom and his relationship with Mal. He wanted to forget to a point in which he fell for Eames' words and kissed the mirror. He kissed a goddamn mirror. If he wasn't desperate before, then this was definitely showed desperation.

He groaned softly and leaned against the bed.

Eames was still gone, and Arthur was still feeling as horrible as before. He didn't dare cry, though. Sure, a tear or two escaped him, but he disallowed more. He let out a few breaths in attempt to calm himself, but it didn't work for more than the given second. His thoughts turned back to Dom, to Mal, and to everything else.

How did this happen?

It all started with moving here. It started with meeting Ariadne, who brought him to the table. It started with Lorenzo and Houston's playful teasing. It started with the bullying. It started with his small boy crush on Dom. It started with Eames being there, and using him**—** yes, he had came to terms that the Englishman was using him.

Eames was desperate to get out. He forced his feelings and emotions towards Arthur, and this was how it worked out. The fairy tale was simply a theory and nothing else. It couldn't be proven true until it actually happened. And after the kiss, after both parties realized that nothing had changed, Eames had ran away, and since Arthur had caught that action and interpreted it, he now knew why Mal's theory didn't work. Obviously, Eames was only saying things, and like before, forcing himself to feel one way. That thought contradicted the one before**—** it was possible that Mal's ideas could work.

Arthur leaned against the bed, the side pressing into his hip. He exhaled slow breaths, but again, they didn't work past the given moment. His eyes traveled to the mirror.

It was his reflection. Eames wasn't there. Eames didn't care. All the other had cared about was getting out. It was pretty selfish, in Arthur's eyes; he thought it was only fair to let the other man suffer. Because, what if Arthur did fall in love with him? And Eames turned out to be toying with him, using him until he was free? Then Arthur would be left to gather the pieces of his broken heart, of course. He could only be glad that he wasn't stupid enough to fall for the Englishman, but he was still stupid for looking into Dom when the blond showed no signs of romantic interests.

But why was he worried and hurt over something like this?

He asked himself the same question various of times, but the answer was still the same; he didn't know why. He blamed his heart and mind for taking him places, and it brought him here in regret and despair. How worse can it get than this? He couldn't see anything worse happening unless someone he cared about was dying or extremely ill. But what were the chances of that happening?

He ran his fingers through his hair and tore his eyes away from the mirror. He had homework to do, and he was going to do it, pass the test, and get on with life. He was not going to get weighed down because of these things. He simply would not allow himself to be weighed down. He was going to pull through this, even if it meant pulling through it alone.

His attention didn't linger on his work for long.

Chocolate brown eyes, ever so casually, would turn to the right to see if Eames had returned, and every time, all he saw was himself.

Eames was obviously not coming back anytime soon; why should he been anticipating it, then? It's not like he actually had something to say to the other. In fact, he rather be left alone. If that was the case, why was he waiting for the Englishman to appear? Arthur didn't think that the presence of the Britishman affected him in any way. Or at least, it shouldn't. So, why wasn't he doing his homework and looking intently at the mirror instead? He knew he was waiting for Eames to appear, but for what reason he didn't know of.

On the other hand, he wondered if it was possible for Eames to watch him now, even though he wasn't in front of the mirror. It could be possible, and Arthur didn't want to be caught staring. But he knew it was much too late to not be caught staring, yet, nevertheless, he forced his gaze away.

He tried concentrating on reading the chapter that was assigned to him. It still didn't work. His mind was scattered and not allowing him to focus on what was important. A frustrated sigh came from him.

Shoving his books aside, Arthur laid back on the mattress, his eyes cast upon the ceiling. He attempted to push away everything that was on his mind, but it was hard to. Just like before, the more he tried to ignore it, the more it was there.

He needed a distraction.

Where could he find distraction, though? He didn't want to talk to anyone. There was basically nothing on the Internet, or the TV for that matter. He wasn't hungry. And he couldn't complete this homework.

But sleep sounded nice. Yet, how could he sleep with nearly a million things running through his head? He couldn't.

Continuously frustrated, Arthur heaved himself up to a sitting position. Though he avoided his wandering eyes towards the right of him, he couldn't ignore the feeling of something within him.

It was another one of the unknown emotions, where he was confused**—** mixed emotions. Jealousy, anger, desperation**—** those were not his usual feelings. Unless someone received an award for something _he_ deserved, or if they made a better grade than him, then that would be jealousy. He would be angry if people continued to tick him off. He would be desperate to get rid of how bored he was, but all those were a different sort of feeling. They were more common to him, but the new ones**—** they felt foreign, even though they were the same.

Arthur fell back on the mattress, this time curling into a ball. His eyes closed and he tried, once more, to remove the excessive amount of thoughts in his head. It was impossible, though with silence and nothing else to distract him**—** there was always music, but he was sure even music wouldn't be able to distract him.

He huffed out a breath and rolled onto his stomach. The mattress his now pressed against his cheek, making the position rather uncomfortable, but he didn't proceed to move. He simply laid there, staring at the mirror again, wondering how the hell did he get himself into this sort of mess.

— **ox — xo —**

Arthur really did not want go to school. He wouldn't be able to face Dom and Mal, nevertheless, any of the others. He even stayed in his bed until his father came ambling down the hallway and knocked on his door, shouting for him to wake up. So, with no choice, he moved towards the bathroom.

He dressed and got ready at a snail-like pace, which resulted at him going the exact speed limit and probably a bit faster.

As he arrived at school, he leaned back against the seat, head tilted back, eyes closed. He wanted nothing more than to skip, but what good that make of him? He needed to face it, else, he would never learn to accept it.

Holding that on his mind, Arthur unbuckled himself from the seat and opened the door. As he stepped out and locked his vehicle, he glanced around. Students were still gathered outside, which meant he had more than five minutes to spare.

Shifting the backpack on his one shoulder, he made his way towards the school. It took him less than a minute to travel to his locker and remove his needed books, but when he closed said locker, he was greeted by Houston.

"We need to talk."

Arthur knew immediately from those words and the sound of Houston's tone that this _'talk'_ meant trouble. Trouble was the last thing he needed.

Nevertheless, he quirked a brow. "Shoot."

Houston glanced around for a mere moment before taking his wrist.

Arthur jerked it away. "The bell's about to ring."

Houston shoved his hands into his pockets, cheeks a bit flushed.

He glanced away. "We can talk later. After lunch, yeah?"

"Sure."

Houston gave him a curt nod before scurrying away.

— **ox — xo —**

Lunch was interesting, Arthur could say at the very most. He was forced to fake a few smiles, but other that, Mal and Dom showed no sort of couple-like actions, which Arthur was happy about. His _'happiness' _disappeared as lunch ended, and Houston beckoned him towards the boys' bathroom.

He was a bit nervous upon entrance, but once the subject was presented, he felt a _bit _better.

"The thing between you and Ariadne ..." Houston started, leaning against the wall, arms crossed. "Are you two ... ?"

He gestured at the air.

Arthur almost laughed. _Almost_, but he kept it back and shook his head. "We're friends."

Houston, for once, frowned. "She seems interested in you."

"Are you interested in her?"

Arthur knew this sort of interaction from a few books he had read.

"Are you gay?" Houston blurted out.

This was steering in a different direction.

Arthur opened his mouth to retort a _no_, but he fell silent.

He clamped his mouth shut.

"Answer my question first," Arthur said moments later.

Houston gave him a stiff look before sighing. His arms uncrossed from his chest. "Yeah, I do. She doesn't look at me often, though. And she took an immediate interest to you."

That, she did.

"So. Are you gay?" Houston repeated.

Arthur pursed his lips slightly. "I ... prefer intelligent people."

Houston broke into a soft grin, drawing close. "That doesn't answer the question."

"And what does?" the young brunet shot back.

"It's a yes or no question."

"Perhaps is not an answer?"

"So you are."

"I**—**"

"I know someone's who's interested in you," Houston said cheerfully, beaming as he placed a hand on Arthur's shoulder and steered him towards the entrance of the bathroom. "I'll deliver this news to him. He'll meet you on the way out."

— **ox — xo —**

This person that Houston claimed to like him was apparently Lorenzo.

At first, Arthur thought it was a joke. Even Ariadne, who he told about the last bit of the exchange between him and Houston (he kept Houston's liking towards the petite female a secret, though), thought it was humorous.

But Lorenzo was actually serious, or at least he seemed serious. When Ariadne waved good bye to them, leaving them alone, Lorenzo turned to him, a smile playing on his lips. "So, a little birdie told me that you have a male preference." The other male nudged him against his own car door as he leaned close.

Arthur felt uncomfortable in this pinned position, but when he tried to shove Lorenzo away, the male grabbed both of his wrists.

"How about it, Artie? My place or yours?"

"How about," Arthur started, shifting slightly, "you return my personal space to me and be on your way to your own place?"

Lorenzo laughed and let go. "You're cute. I like you. But in all seriousness, your place or mine?"

Arthur narrowed his eyes. "I will go to my place and you will go to yours."

"Oh, come on, babe. You know you want this." Lorenzo leaned towards him again, but Arthur shoved him aside.

"I have homework to tend to."

"It'll be a one time thing."

And here, Arthur was actually _considering _it. Though nothing bothered him that much today, he still wanted to forget the incident between Mal and Dom. Eames had offered a chance to forget, but how did that turn out? He ended up kissing a mirror, and Eames then decided to run. But was he this desperate to forget?

"How far do you live from here?"

"Twenty minutes or so."

"My place's closer."

He was definitely desperate.

Lorenzo flashed him another grin. "I'll follow you, alright?"

"Alright."

As the other moved away, Arthur scrambled into his car, started the engine, and backed out. His mind reeled as he pulled out of the parking lot. He aimed to drive away quickly so that Lorenzo couldn't follow, but the desperation crossed his mind again, and he slowed enough to stop at a red light.

His eyes skimmed the rear view mirror, and catching sight of another student driver, he glanced away and fixed his attention of fastening his seat belt. When the light turned green the moment he peered up, he stepped lightly on the gas pedal and continued to drive down the road. As he turned to his neighborhood street, he caught sight of a slick black truck, and from the looks of it, Lorenzo was the driver.

His heart jumped to his throat. He was basically getting himself into sexual intercourse**—** something he didn't want until his was married, but at the same time, he yearned to feel _wanted_.

With a calming sigh, Arthur pulled in front of his house, turned off the engine, and got out. After locking the doors, he turned to see Lorenzo park beside him and get out.

The light brunet was beaming as he approached him. "Your parents home?"

Arthur glanced at the driveway. His parent's car wasn't there.

"I don't think so. They wouldn't pester, though."

Gesturing his classmate towards the entrance, Arthur fished out his keys and unlocked the house. The moment he stepped in, he heard the light buzz of the television. His mother was home.

"I brought a friend," he announced, shutting and locking the door after Lorenzo got in and toed off his shoes like Arthur.

His mother sat up and peered at them. "Oh, wonderful. Would you two like anything to eat?"

"I'm fine."

"I recently ate, but thanks."

She smiled. "It's good to see Arthur's making friends."

Arthur almost choked on air, gaining a look from Lorenzo, but the light brunet ignored it and nodded once at the woman.

"Of course. Your son's quite a looker."

When the questionable expression crossed his mother's face, Arthur took that moment to start up the stairs. "We'll be upstairs," he said, giving Lorenzo an intent look.

Still grinning, the other student tailed him up the stairs and into his bedroom. There, Arthur set his bag down while Lorenzo took the pleasure in closing and securing the lock on the door.

His eyes then met the hazel ones. His heart was beating much faster now. He had a chance to stop this. He could stop it right now. He could**—** but he couldn't.

Lorenzo stepped over, grabbed his chin, and kissed him.

Arthur was taken with shock for a few seconds, but after noting that Lorenzo's eyes were closed and his lips were moving against his, he gave in.

His eyes closed and he kissed back. It was not slow like those seen on romantic movies. Instead, it was fast, needy, hot, and Arthur liked it. He kissed back eight much eagerness, his arms wrapping around Lorenzo's body, pulling the man close. He felt a tongue beginning to prod his lips, and without hesitation, he parted his lips. The tongue slipped in, brushing against his own, sending shivers of delight down Arthur's spine. And he decided, at this moment, that this was his actual first kiss, and so far, he wasn't regretting it, even though Lorenzo was now backing him towards the bed.

When he hit the soft mattress, the kiss was broken for the briefest moment. Lorenzo lifted him onto his bed before climbing on top of him. The lips belonging to his classmate ran down his throat, tongue flickering over his adam's apple. Rushed, needy hands traveled downward, cupping him through his slacks.

Arthur's breath hitched, and his sights go blank for a moment. He's not supposed to be in this position. He wasn't supposed to be touched there. But it felt nice. _Fuck_.

The lips descended on his own once more as Lorenzo's fingers danced over the waistline of his pants. When no restrictions were made, they dipped inside. Arthur immediately panicked as he was touched.

Breaking the kiss, he pushed the one on top of him away.

"I can't do this," he whispered, sitting up and bringing his knees to his chest.

"We can just make out, if you want. No touching below the waist?"

Arthur bit his lip and peered up at his classmate. And then he, surprising himself, nodded.

Lorenzo leaned over once more, and he leaned forward to capture the lips.

This kiss was slower, but it still had the same intensity. Lorenzo lightly pressed him back against the mattress, lips moving in sync with his own. Arthur trailed his hands up to the soft hair and strung his fingers through it. As their lower halves met, a groan emitted from both parties.

That's when it was heard: "Bloody hell."

Before Arthur could rip away from the mouth, Lorenzo was already off him. His classmate glanced around, looking startled.

"Was that your dad?"

And Eames, that bastard, snorted. "Far from that."

Eames met Arthur's gaze, and Arthur could see the bitter anger on the Englishman's face.

He ignored it and turned to Lorenzo. "It's probably the TV**—**"

"I'm nothing like a TV."

Lorenzo slid off the bed and paced towards the mirror, bewildered. "I swear it's coming from here."

"That's because it is. Arthur, why don't you inform our guest**—**"

"Shut up, Eames," Arthur scowled, sliding off the bed and grabbing Lorenzo's arm. "Couldn't give us privacy for a few minutes, can you?"

Not waiting for the answer, Arthur towed his classmate out of the bedroom. Once the door closed behind him, blocking him from his room, Arthur turned to the opposing student. "I apologize for**—**"

"What the hell was that? Where did you get it?"

The dark brunet sighed. "It was here before. If you excuse me ... that means _leave_, Lorenzo."

Lorenzo gazed at him for a few more seconds before placing a chaste kiss on his lips. "Alright. Next time."

Casting him a smile, he made his way across the hall and down the stairs.

After hearing his mother's farewell and the door close, Arthur entered his bedroom once more. Making sure his own door was closed, he proceeded to the mirror where Eames was still looking furious.

"Have you heard of privacy?" he questioned, crossing his arms across his chest.

"Have you heard of _human feelings_?" Eames snapped back. "Obviously not."

Arthur's face turned dark. He scowled. "I needed something**—**"

"I'm not enough for you?"

"You're in a mirror," Arthur stated bluntly.

"But I'm human. I ... fuck. I hate you."

"The feeling is entirely mutual."

Eames' eyes narrowed. "I helped you through your troubles."

"You used me."

A flicker of surprise crossed the man's face.

Arthur scoffed and seated himself on the edge of his bed. "Don't pretend to be surprised. You knew you did. You're toying with my emotions and yours as well."

Eames opened his mouth, but nothing came out for a while.

A good moment or two later, he began again. "Is he someone you met today?"

"He is none of your business."

"His hands were down your pants."

"And I pushed him away."

"That could have been _my_ hand. My mouth. My touches."

Arthur rolled his eyes.

Eames seemed to ignore it and continued. "It could have been me."

"But it wasn't."

"You're a heartless bastard. I hope that makes sense to you, Arthur. You're becoming how I was before."

"Do not," hissed the younger of the two, "compare me to yourself. We're nothing alike."

"Do you prefer _'slut'_, then?"

The moment he heard these words, disbelief crossed him.

How _dare_ he**—**

Stepping onto the floor, Arthur walked over to his desk, emptied his metal pencil holder, and hurled it at the mirror. Tears threatened his eyes he he watched it break one side of the mirror. Eames, on the other hand, gasped, and from the looks of the expression, from pain.

But Arthur could really care less. Not that he was given the time to care anyways. Hearing the footsteps of his mother ushering up the stairs, he quickly conjured an excuse to use. None came by time his mother knocked on his door, asking if he was alright. Not even bothering to throw Eames a look, the dark brunet proceeded to open the door.

His mother peered in, panic written across her face. "What happened?"

He didn't have a good excuse made up, so he decided the truth was fair enough. "I threw my pencil holder at the mirror."

He knew she was tempted to ask why, but instead, she asked a different question. "Did you two break up?"

At first, Arthur thought she meant Eames, and his heart nearly stopped, but after recollecting the fact that Lorenzo was once here, he turned away.

"I'm not gay, mother. He was just here, and I'm just stressed. He left because I was stressed."

There was a sudden sound of wheezing from Eames' direction, but it seemed to go unheard by his mother, thankfully.

"Oh ... I always drive around to get rid of the stress. Or talk to someone I can trust. It helps."

Arthur could have sworn that she looked hopeful, but he didn't want to stick around here.

"I'll just take a ride," he murmured, grabbing his car keys. After shooting a look in the mirror's direction and seeing nothing but his reflection, he made his way out of the bedroom and out of the house.

The ride around the town was loud. He turned the radio on and had it at a level that was deafening, but it still didn't clear his head.

He couldn't believe it.

Eames turned back into an ass, and now, Lorenzo was probably curious about his mirror.

Arthur shouldn't have brought his classmate home. It would have been better if they went to his place. That way, this mess wouldn't unfold, but he didn't do that. Therefore, he suffered the consequences.

The bright side of things was that, at the very least, Lorenzo didn't think he was insane. But Eames had called him something unspeakable. He definitely was not**—** there was a difference between needing and wanting. He _wanted_ to kiss Dom, but he _needed_ Lorenzo's kiss, since Eames' didn't satisfy him.

It didn't mean that he was giving himself**—** did it? Arthur hoped not.

Holding such a title, even though it was in one's eyes, was still bad for his image. He didn't want that.

Besides, Lorenzo and his thing was simply a one time thing. He wasn't going to get into any more trouble. Especially not with Eames, because the Englishman didn't even deserve his attention. Before, yes, he was helpful, but now, after Eames discovered that the kiss didn't work, he became an angry character.

Or maybe Eames was jealous; that would explain a part in their argument. But what was Eames jealous of? Surely, he didn't really like him as he claimed?

No.

Arthur had to remind himself that Eames used him, that these feelings weren't real, and he refused any other thought to contradict that idea. He kept that idea, then shoved the thought of Eames aside.

Lorenzo took up his mind next.

At first, he thoroughly enjoyed the touches and kisses, but now, he felt tainted. He had been touched inappropriately. He had been kissed. He just made out with someone. And Eames was watching him perform these actions. That itself was truly embarrassing.

But he couldn't deny it. The kisses and touches felt amazing. They also made him forget about Dom temporarily. It was just the distraction he needed.

Yet, it was just a one time thing. This made Arthur shift slightly. He liked the actions performed, but he didn't really like Lorenzo. He was a fair companion and a humorous person, but he doubted that any sort of relationship could root from what they had.

What about the classic '_friends with benefits'_? That sounded as if he was some sort of ... well, exactly what Eames called him from earlier, and he didn't want to live up to such word. So, '_friends with benefits' _was definitely out.

He just needed to abstain. He was sure to let this, Dom's case, and all the other shit with Eames go. He would move on with life and not think about this. He would complete school, find a suitable job, then find someone. That was saved for later. For now, he needed to get back to the house before his mother started panicking, thinking that he got mugged or kidnapped.

As he stepped into the house again, he's greeted with a question.

"Are you okay?"

It reminded him of Eames, but he waved the thought aside.

"I'm fine," he answered before making his way up to his bedroom.

He found himself holding his breath as he he entered, as if expecting some sort of invisible force to attack him, but none did. He ventured inward, aware of the mirror that was broken slightly on the side. His pencil holder was back on his desk with the respective writing utensils within. He had to thank his mother for collecting them, but not now. He had homework to do and Eames to ignore.

Homework was easily finished, since the Englishman didn't bother to make a presence. However, it did make him curious. He peered at the mirror, noting the crack.

Well, there wasn't a point in the mirror now. He might as well covered it up, but he didn't want to draw near said mirror. What if Eames suddenly reached out and dragged him in?

No. That was impossible.

He was becoming insane if that is his paranoia.

Waving it off, he slid off the bed and took his turns with showering, eating dinner, and reviewing for a test. By his usual sleeping time, he was tucked within the covers. Somewhat instinctively, he turned towards the mirror. This time, he frowned lightly.

He could have sworn that the crack was an inch or two smaller than how it was now, but he could simply be imagining things.

Shrugging the thought aside, he dragged his sights away from said mirror and closed his eyes.

He began to think about his situation again, but this time, he fell asleep to it.

— **ox — xo —**

The next day, at school, the first person that talked to him was Lorenzo. This was because the other had nicely waited for him. When Arthur stepped out of his car, Lorenzo paced over and kissed him. Of course, Arthur was taken by sheer surprise again. He didn't respond to the kiss, but he did shove the other away.

"We're in public," he murmured, closing and locking his car door.

Lorenzo laughed and took his hand. "Let them stare. I don't give a fuck." He tried to kiss him again, but Arthur drew away and dragged his hand from the other's.

"It was a one time thing," he stated before turning on his path towards the school.

Lorenzo caught up with him quickly. "Well, if that's the case, how about a date?"

Tempting, but, "no thanks. I'm usually busy."

"Even Saturday?"

"You have a game this Saturday." He knew because Dom had mentioned it earlier.

"I can miss a game for you," Lorenzo pressed, leaning against the locket as Arthur unlocked his own.

"No, thanks," he repeated.

"Then, how about another session? My place? Yours?"

"It was a one time thing," Arthur repeated irritably.

Lorenzo chuckled. "You liked it, right? I enjoyed it. And I want to do it again."

The dark brunet closed his locker, locking it.

Lorenzo loomed closer. "Okay, how about this. Just give me a call if you need a stress reliever or something. Here**—**" Fishing a pen out of his backpack, his classmate opened one of Arthur's notebooks that laid on top and scribbled down his number. With a grin, Lorenzo closed the notebook after wards. "Call or text, alright, babe?" He pecked him on the lips goodbye before ushering away.

Flustered and still embarrassed, Arthur quickly ushered to his first period.

Ariadne greeted him with a smile before rambling away. Though, she only had a few seconds to talk since the bell rung quickly after he took his seat.

The first few periods went by smoothly. Gym, however, wasn't the most pleasant class. Math wasn't either. After all, even though Dom was talking to him, Arthur still felt unneeded and cast aside. He had, after all, kissed a man who was in a relationship with one of his companions.

But now wasn't a time to worry about those matters.

Though his heart still throbs for the blond athlete, he was nearly positive that he was almost over him, thanks to Lorenzo and Eames (Eames, because of the trouble he was causing and whatnot). That provided much distraction, just not the sort he wanted. Though, the Englishman was probably not going to talk to him anymore after he threw that pencil holder. If he did, they would probably end up in an argument, like before. Lorenzo, on the other hand, was a rather fair distraction. Arthur wouldn't mind if they had another session, but he didn't want to be obliged to do so. He needed to keep away from those relationships for now.

Unfortunately, it was nearly impossible with Lorenzo lingering around. At lunch, he snagged a seat next to him, and for once, Houston sat on Ariadne's side. This, of course, brought confusion to Dom's and Ariadne's faces. Mal and Lorenzo seemed well aware as Arthur about the reason why.

Nevertheless, his attention didn't linger for long on the pair. Instead, he busied himself trying to avoid Lorenzo's under the table touches.

When Lorenzo had seated himself next to him, he had snaked an arm around his waist. This caused Arthur to squirm and pick the arm off, receiving a quirk of brow from Mal.

The next movement came after he finished his salad. Lorenzo placed a hand on his knee, massaging it lightly before trailing up slowly. Instinctively, Arthur pushed the hand off.

The third and final touch came when lunch ended. Lorenzo's hand fell into his lap and groped him. His reaction was like no other. Arthur yelped and jerked away before delivering a punch. His punch didn't land, though, but he couldn't care less. Flushing, he stood up, grabbed his trash, and made an hasty exit.

He wanted to shut himself in the bathroom stall forever, but the moment he heard Lorenzo's voice, he wanted nothing more than to run.

"Artie? Arthur? Look, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that. Forgive me?"

Arthur leaned against the stall door, drawing out slow breaths.

"I won't do it again unless you want me to. Seriously, I won't. Come on, Art. Don't ignore me. I know you're there."

He felt knocking on his stall door. When he refused to open it, Arthur found himself soon glaring up at the other male who had propped himself up on the stall next door.

"I promise," Lorenzo continued, a small smile tinting his lips.

Arthur had the choice to leave and ignore the other, but he chose the other option.

"Don't do it again," he replied coldly.

"Unless you want me to."

"I don't."

"If you insist."

Lorenzo then heaved himself over, dropping down in front of Arthur. And here, in this little space the small stall provided, it was getting heated and fast.

Arthur backed against the door again, his hand on the lock, but much to his misfortune, the door opened inward, so he was trapped.

Lorenzo took a step closer, running his fingers down Arthur's neck. Hazel eyes flickered down towards his mouth. And before he knew it, their lips were connected again. Arthur's hands grabbed his classmate's shoulders so that he could push the other away, but his hands were weakened as Lorenzo pressed into him, deepening the kiss. Delicate digits thumbed through Arthur's hair, brushing lightly against his ear before trailing to his neck. The hands Arthur had on the shoulders ended up sliding down Lorenzo's back, bringing their bodies closer to each other.

Their session ended, though, when the bell rung.

Arthur shoved Lorenzo back a bit. "Shit," he murmured, quickly tidying himself before turning towards the door.

As his hand fell on the lock to unlock it, he felt arms wrapping around his body.

"How about a cup of coffee after the game?"

Arthur broke free and opened the door slightly. Without word, Lorenzo backed up so that the door could be opened. After exiting, Arthur turned back to the other man.

"Get to class."

Lorenzo barked with laughter as he dismissed himself from the stall. "Right, right. So. Ari's at six, alright?" Not waiting for a refusal, he waved and left.

Arthur was fumbling throughout the rest of the school periods. Though Ariadne tried to strike up another conversation with him, he did his best to ignore it. He knew he was being rather rude again, but couldn't Ariadne tell that he needed room? Apparently not.

She walked him to his car, eyed Lorenzo who lingered by with Houston, before breaking off and being escorted by Houston towards her car. This, of course, left Arthur with Lorenzo, and at the moment, he didn't want to speak with the other. He nudged the man aside so he could unlock his car. When he got in and proceeded to close the door, the opposing male stopped it.

"Do I get a goodbye kiss?"

Arthur stared at the man with his '_are you fucking kidding me_?' face, but Lorenzo didn't go affected. He swooped down and pecked the corner of Arthur's mouth before drawing away and fleeing as if Arthur was going to transform into a monster and eat him alive.

Truthfully, he didn't mind that as much. If Lorenzo were to touch him again, Arthur would bite him. He wasn't tolerating the unplanned and not okayed kisses anymore**—** even if it made his heart sore for a moment, but that was a different story.

Driving his way home, he listened to the person on the radio jabber endlessly about a murderer in New York City. It wasn't anything new, but it was interesting how the victims were killed. After all, most simply killed and ran away, but this murderer, according to the person talking, tortured his victims, cut part of them up into small pieces, blended them, and added the mixture to the stream nearby.

It disgusted Arthur, and he was glad that this man was finally caught.

Luckily, he parked his car and turned off the engine before any more news could be told to him.

On his way in, he heard his parents' voice. They were coming from the bedroom, and by the sound of it, it wasn't good. His father was yelling.

Arthur didn't want to stick around, but he couldn't help but tune in.

"**—**will not tolerate such nonsense in this house!"

"He's his own person."

"You do not understand**—** you wanted grandchildren, no?"

Ah, so they were talking about him and obviously, his mother had ratted him out about his small admitted crush for Dom and bringing Lorenzo home yesterday.

He frowned and proceeded up the stairs. As he reached the top step, his father bustled out of the master bedroom and glared at him.

"Living room, now."

Arthur hesitated, but after receiving a heated glare from his father, he returned back downstairs.

Once on the couch, Arthur suddenly became nervous.

It was rare to see his father this angry at him. His mother probably took the honor in spicing him up with fiery before. He threw his mother a look at the thought of that. She didn't meet his gaze. She didn't talk or say furthermore, either.

His father paced up to where he sat and glared down on him.

Arthur tensed.

"I hear that you have a fancy in boys."

His mother _did _rat him out. _Dammit_.

He let out a breathe before replying. "I have no intentions of**—**"

Before he could finish, he felt a stinging pain on his cheek right after the sound of his father's hand against his face.

"You disgust me. Those of your sort should be banished. This is a sin you are committing."

"I haven't done anything**—**"

Another slap, but this time, Arthur allowed it to sting. He had just lied to his father. That slap was deserved, but the first one wasn't.

He bit his bottom lip and forced back the tears of shame.

"You will change. Do you understand? I will not hesitate to disown you if I find that you are off with a man, committing sin."

Arthur nodded, understanding. He didn't trust his voice, and he didn't want to receive another slap in the face.

He stood, continued to ignore the glare, and ushered to his bedroom where he continued to close and lock the door. There, he took in painful breaths. Though he didn't cry, the pain of his father's disapproval was stabbing at him, especially at his cheek.

He touched the side of his face. It was warm.

Keeping the hand on, he proceeded towards the bathroom. After washing his face various of times, then deciding on a shower, Arthur busied himself for the next hour.

As he allowed the water to pour overhead, he mind searched for an answer. How could he make his father happy? Obviously, he had to impress him by bringing home a female. But he was sure that his father didn't want just any female. He was probably looking for a princess or something. And just where the hell would he find a princess-like figure? A name clicked. _Cheyenne_. But he was nearly positive that she was dating Timothy, and if not, she wasn't his type. If he were into females, it would be someone less attention seeking, like Ariadne. Ariadne would make a good choice, but she wasn't exactly the biggest thing in the town.

He scowled, frustrated. He already had other things weighing him down. Now, his father was pressuring him with this subject.

This was definitely his mother's fault. It was a domino effect. _She_ suggested to move here, and so they did, which caused him to meet Dom, to fall recklessly, then to meet Lorenzo, and bring Lorenzo home, which obviously was re final straw for his mother. And thus, he was here, in the shower, drowning himself in negativity.

What was the positive side of things, though?

Well, he still had a roof over his head, food to eat, clothes, his car and keys, his laptop, and his cellphone. He was sure he still had money in the bank as well. Surely, he would be stripped of all his possessions if his father disowned him, and at this moment, he couldn't handle being disowned.

With a sigh, he shut off the shower and dismissed himself from the bathroom after dressing and drying his hair. He returned to his bed room to see the sun beginning to set, but his attention didn't linger on the window for long.

Instinctively, his gaze flickered towards the mirror. At first, Arthur thought it was his pure imagination, but it wasn't. The crack in the mirror had relatively gotten bigger. He needed to get the mirror moved before it were to shatter on his floor.

But what about Eames?

What if the mirror couldn't move?

No**—** what if Eames was dying?

His heart jumped to his throat at that idea.

Eames couldn't be dying. He simply couldn't. Arthur wasn't a murderer, dammit. Him throwing the pencil holder was completely unintentional to murder.

Maybe Eames was sleeping or sulking.

He tried to convince himself that the Englishman was doing one of those things, but he doubted for some reason. He had to make sure. Pacing over, he peered at the cracks before tapping the unbroken area of the glass.

"Eames?" he whispered.

No answer.

"Eames?" His voice raised a little. Still no answer. "Fuck."

Scrambling to his cellphone, he quickly went through his calls and found an unknown number dating a few days back. Pressing send, he clasped the phone to his ear before tapping the mirror again. "Answer me, Eames!"

Still, nothing.

The phone rang, and on the fourth ring, it was picked up.

"Hello?" came the female's voice.

"Mal," Arthur choked out. "I broke the mirror."

There was silence for two seconds, then, "I'll be there in a few."

Before Arthur could say anything else, she hung up.


	10. Chapter 10

**Warning;** alternate universe, supernatural, teen&panicky! Arthur, OMC/Arthur, OMC/Ariadne, homophobia

**Disclaimer;** when Arthur doesn't want specificity.

**Author's Notes;** I glad you guys stuck with me. I know OC/Canon usually turns people off, but bare with me! I have a few questions for my lovely readers; 1) does this fic seem to be moving _too_ fast? 2) does Arthur seem like a gary-stu? in fact, do any of the characters appear like a sue/stu? So ... I'm practically flailing at this moment. It's been ten weeks. I've never been this far with a fic before, so asdfghjkl— yeah. I'll shut up now. Hope this chapter, ehm ... pleases you? 8D

* * *

His parents were not going to be happy when Mal arrived on the doorstep, especially since his father just told him off an hour or so ago. Or maybe they left to get some fresh air, if he was lucky. Whatever the reason, Arthur needed to stop Mal from knocking. He didn't want to get in more trouble and certainly, he didn't want her to see his parents in such manner, but he couldn't call her back. He was in a panicking state about Eames dying in the mirror. He _had_ really gone crazy.

Perhaps Eames was just sleeping. In a deep sleep, because he hadn't gotten some in a day or two.

That was likely, but—

"Arthur!"

He flinched at the sound of his father's booming voice. Nonetheless, he didn't hold in his spot for long. He quickly threw open the bedroom door and strolled into the hallway.

"Yes?"

"There's someone—"

Dammit, Mal.

Gritting his teeth, Arthur ushered down the stairs. His father was peeking out the window, but Arthur went straight towards the door and opened it.

Mal wasn't smiling, and she pushed past him to get inside. Though, the moment Arthur's father straightened up and cleared his throat, she glanced over and flashed a charming smile.

"I hope you don't mind my intrusion. I'm here to return Arthur's book. He left it back at his desk when he hurried out."

Arthur took that excuse and quickly headed up the stairs.

"I need to return your notes to you from Wednesday," he lied, nodding once in her direction and completely ignoring his father.

Mal continued to smile as she took off her shoes. "Excuse me," she said politely towards his father before starting up the stairs.

Once they were in the bedroom, Arthur closed the door as softly as possible and locked it. When he turned around, he saw Mal examining the mirror. His mouth ran dry as she began to frown. It was only when she straightened up and shot a look in his direction did he begin to fear.

The look in her eyes appeared murderous, but the murderous look was only there for a split second.

"What happened?"

Arthur knew that question would be brought up sooner or later.

He glanced away.

"He called me ... something and I was angered by it, so I threw my pencil holder."

"What did he call you?"

He was far embarrassed, but he answered reluctantly. "Slut."

His teeth bit his lip as he waited an answer.

And when that question wasn't enough, another question was shot at him.

"Why?"

Arthur's breathing hitched slightly. "Classified information."

At the sound of movement, the young brunet peered up.

Mal was standing a feet away, and she was leering. Her eyes demanded an answer, and finally, Arthur gave in. There was just something about her that made him fear if he didn't comply.

"He caught me kissing someone."

Her face darkened. "Dom? That was last—"

"No. A different person."

She fell silent for a moment. Her dark orbs continued to eat him, but after a bit, she returned to the mirror.

"How did he react when you threw it?"

Arthur thought back to when he threw the object. He remembered his mother coming in to see what was going on, but what happened before that?

Well, when it landed, Eames did clutch his side— the side in which the mirror was broken— and he did make painful noises. But it couldn't be—

"He grabbed his side and made noises in pain."

Her fingers, which was tracing the broken glass, froze. Arthur felt himself going still as well.

Was it possible that Eames _was_ the mirror? That he _felt_ everything that happened to it? Which meant that he felt Arthur's lips?

He shrugged off those thoughts.

"We need to stop this crack from spreading."

He knew that much.

"Eames? It's Mal. I'm here."

She tapped the mirror lightly, looking worried.

Arthur couldn't help but become worry too.

Just what if— what if he caused Eames to die?

"Eames, love. Answer me. If needed, I'll send Arthur out."

Still no answer.

Arthur was getting nervous.

"Eames."

She tapped the side of the mirror, the the broken part of it. This time, there was a reply.

A grunt was sounded, snapping Arthur away from his worries. His sights jerked towards the mirror and there he was. Eames, not looking the best, clutching his side, taking in shaky breaths— Arthur knew that he caused it, and his heart began to pound. Eames didn't look at him, though, and vaguely, Arthur wished he did. He wished Eames would at least acknowledge him, even if it meant that he would be called a slut in his face again.

"Tell me what happened," Mal instructed softly, still stroking the broken part of the glass.

Eames' breathing hitched. "It hurts. Feels like my bone was broken or something."

Arthur glanced down, unable to watch.

"Where does it hurt?"

"Right hip."

"How are you able to stand?"

"I heard your voice."

Arthur's chest tightened at the sound of that. There was a very light spark of hope in Eames' voice, and it wasn't directed towards him.

"Is the pain spreading?"

"A little, yeah."

"Hm. So it appears that your body is connected to the mirror. Can you feel my touch?"

"Yeah. Yeah— it feels nice."

Another clench, but this time, it's in his heart.

Arthur squeezed his eyes shut and exhaled slowly.

"Do you have any idea how to make it better?"

"No. I wish. This pain's—"

There was a strangled gasp and a sound of collapsing. Arthur's gaze shot towards the mirror. Eames had fell, but Mal continued stroking the broken part of the mirror.

"We'll— I'll help you the best I can. Just hold in there."

The Englishman nodded slightly. "I trust you to."

Mal then straightened up and peered over at Arthur. From her expression alone, the student could tell that she had no idea what to do, and Arthur certainly didn't either.

How could they fix a broken glass? Replace it, of course, but Eames wasn't replaceable. Eames would end up breaking.

Arthur's body trembled at that thought. That was not what he wanted. He didn't want the man to die. After all, he was still human, even though he's in a mirror.

If Eames did die, then, what would happen? Was it possible that Arthur could be charged for murder? There wasn't proof, though, unless the mirror transformed into Eames and the other ended up dying on the floor.

But no— it was still impossible for him to be blamed. His fingerprints weren't on the man. There was no proof— that was, unless Eames wasn't dead and told everyone that it was his fault.

Arthur paced over to his chair and sat down. He shouldn't be thinking about the future; he needed to care about the current moment, and the situation at this time was healing Eames.

His gaze turned towards Mal.

She was deep in thought.

Arthur tried to come up with a few ideas, but he couldn't with Eames wheezing in the background.

He leaned back in the chair.

There was absolutely no way to fix a broken glass unless magic was a subject, but where's would they find a magician? Where could they locate Nash or someone helpful? If they put a _'Magician Wanted' _sign, people would think that they had gone insane. The only option was to wait and see, and from the looks of it, Mal had the same thought.

"I should be going," she announced a second later. "Your father would start wondering. Call me again if something happens." She then switched her gaze to Eames. "Keep holding on, alright? I'll think of something."

With a small smile, she turned, dropped the fake smile, and headed out.

Arthur was left in the chair, eyes on the floor, listening as Mal said a farewell to his parents. He wished to have one last word with her, but it was too late now.

And Eames' wheezing was getting on his nerves because he couldn't do anything about it.

When the wheezing stopped, though, Arthur peered up.

Eames was gone again, and he merely assumed that the Englishman had retired to another part of the room provided within the mirror.

Arthur sighed and closed his eyes.

How did he get himself into this mess?

— **ox — xo —**

"Hello?"

"Hey, Artie. Where are you?"

Lorenzo.

Arthur sat up in his bed.

"I'm at home."

"I thought we have a date."

"I didn't agree to it."

There was a pause, then laughter. "Well, I'm here now. Houston and Ariadne are flirting. It's actually quite hilarious. You should come."

Arthur glanced to the mirror for a brief second before making his decision. "I'll be there in a few."

As he got dressed in silence, he listened to any sounds that would give away Eames watching him. When there was none by time he finished dressing, he gave up. He wanted to tell the other that he was heading out, but he ended up contradicting that action.

Turning away, Arthur grabbed his necessities and walked out of the bedroom. He passed his mother on the way out, but he didn't speak to her either. What was the point? She betrayed him, and she wasn't even his actual mother anyways. He didn't need to try to get along. It was obvious that they didn't click. She didn't say anything either, so all was well.

As he got in the car and drove to the cafe, he began thinking of ways to tell Lorenzo _no_ without being offensive. By time he reached the cafe, no thoughts approached him, so he went in without a backup plan.

Ariadne, Houston, and Lorenzo greeted him with bright smiles. It was a difference compared to yesterday afternoon.

He forced a small smile before taking a seat next to Lorenzo, since Houston and Ariadne had taken up the other side.

"Would you like anything?" Ariadne questioned, prepared to stand.

Arthur shook his head with a small smile. "I'm fine."

"Nah, get him a piece of cheesecake. On me," Lorenzo butted in.

Ariadne grinned. "Coming right up."

Getting up, she ushered behind the counter. Seconds later, she appeared with a slice of cheesecake drizzled in caramel.

After thanking her, Arthur picked up the spoon and took a bite with all eyes cast on him. Swallowing, he nodded in approval.

"It's good."

Ariadne shared a grin with Houston.

Arthur quirked his brow. "Are you two—?"

"The question is," Ariadne shot back, leaning towards him, "are you two?"

Arthur opened his mouth to retort a _no_, but Lorenzo had already snaked an arm around his waist and answered. "You can say that we have something going on."

When Arthur threw the other man a look, Lorenzo winked.

Arthur huffed. "We have nothing going on," he murmured, sticking another spoonful of cheesecake into his mouth.

Lorenzo nudged him slightly. "He's just embarrassed. Such a cutie, isn't he?"

Ariadne nodded in approval, making Arthur's face burn for a moment.

"Shut it, Lorenzo," he hissed.

The table irrupted with laughter, making Arthur's cheeks tint in red again.

"And what about you two?" Lorenzo piped up, leaning towards the other two and waggling his eyebrow suggestively.

Ariadne and Houston answered at the same time.

"We're not together."

"We're going out."

They both then looked at each other and broke into giggles.

Arthur, now seeing that he wasn't center of attention, was amused as he shared a knowing look with Lorenzo.

"You haven't even asked me out yet," Ariadne prompted, pouting slightly.

"Date me?" Houston asked, putting an arm around her.

"Alright. We're officially dating," she announced with a grin.

Lorenzo scoffed, and a teasing smile was brought upon Arthur's lips.

"Now we can go on double dates!" exclaimed Houston enthusiastically.

"We're not dating," Arthur began.

Lorenzo looked offended, but the expression was a playful one. "I asked you out. You're here now. This is a date. Therefore, we're dating."

"It's a friendly gathering," he proposed, pressing the subject.

Houston snorted. "Better catch him before he runs away, Renzo."

Lorenzo embraced him from the side. "He can't leave me now."

Arthur lightly shoved the other man away, but he refused to move.

Not that Arthur minded.

For some reason, the arms actually felt warming. It was as if Lorenzo was giving him the attention that he had lost once he discovered Mal's and Dom's relationship, Eames' situation, and his father's disapproval. Before, he felt as if he was in the midst of _wrong_. Here, with Lorenzo, he didn't feel as lonely; it felt nice.

But he shouldn't be enjoying this. It was wrong and a sin, as his father said. Well, Arthur already knew it was wrong in society's eyes, but he couldn't help who he thought was attractive, and in this case, it was more men than women.

He needed to change that. Maybe this was simply a phase and he would get over it. That should be easy, yes?

Not exactly, since Lorenzo was touching him lightly, now.

Arthur felt a hand ghost his back while another fingered the tail of his shirt. The actions may have gone unnoticed by the others, but Arthur had a difficult time trying to digest it.

He leaned out of the touches, but they didn't cease.

In the end, he simply stood up.

"I need to get back. My parents aren't in the brightest mood."

Lorenzo peered up at him, his expression wearing disappointment. "Do I get a kiss goodbye?"

Arthur's gaze flickered to Ariadne's and Houston's steady gaze before turning back to Lorenzo. He wouldn't mind a kiss, but his father would, and besides, he needed to get away.

"Come on, baby," the other murmured, standing up and leaning in.

Arthur, again, had the decision to turn away from this, but again, he _didn't_.

He leaned over and pecked the lips, which caused his heart to soar again.

Lorenzo chuckled and captured his lips again.

It was slow and mesmerized, but it was broken when Arthur grasped reality once more. He pulled away, bidding a goodbye to the three, then quickly making his getaway.

He felt guilty for kissing back and allowing the kiss to happen. He had just disobeyed his father _again_, and if this was reported, he would surely get kicked out. He was playing with his fate, and of all things, it was not something to be played with.

— **ox — xo —**

It was another shameful and quiet night, which Arthur spent on his bed, running through the events of the day and looking at the cracks in the mirror.

He hadn't spoken to Eames, and in return, the other hadn't presented himself. Arthur could only wonder how the other was doing.

He rolled to face the wall, but he still laid awake. He couldn't sleep knowing that he might have caused a death. He had stayed up the previous night, but he knew that if he stayed up for this round, he would be knocked out tomorrow and Monday.

His eyes closed, and he breathed out slowly.

Nothing.

He couldn't sleep.

Giving up, Arthur sat up and turned on the light.

He gripped his head. It didn't stop spinning from thoughts. All the pressure seemed to weigh on him, giving him stress.

He wanted an escape. He needed Lorenzo again, but it was far too late to call the other over. Nevertheless, his father wouldn't approve, and Arthur didn't fancy sneaking out.

His hands dropped to his lap.

He had one other source of distraction, and at that moment, that source was not talking to him.

His gaze switched to the right side again, taking in the sight of the broken mirror.

He wondered if Eames would— no.

No, he wouldn't.

He wasn't on the brightest terms with the other, and there was no doubt that Eames hated him at the moment.

Maybe he could go sleep in one of the guest rooms— but what would that do?

Absolutely nothing.

Arthur turned his body to face the mirror. His eyes raked his reflection, seeing how he has changed. His hair had grown a bit longer and wasn't slicked back, and he looked tired. He also looked weak and pathetic.

His eyes closed.

He didn't look like this; he should be alive, proper, and well.

A breath drew out of his slightly parted lips again.

The time was ticking by slowly as he tried to even out his thoughts.

By time he opened his eyes and checked the clock, it was already eleven.

He didn't budge, though; he stayed rooted in the spot, eyes taking in his reflection once more.

Eames had said earlier on that he could Mal's brushing fingers. If that was the case, then he would be able to feel his, right?

Curious, Arthur slid off the bed and slowly made his way to the mirror. When he was fixed on the spot, he raised his hand and lightly brushed the broken spot on the mirror.

There wasn't a reaction, but he continued to lightly stroke the area.

He felt the areas in which the glass was broken. He felt the edges that could have cut him if he wasn't careful.

His hand dropped to his side.

He continued to stare, as if hoping for Eames to show, but the other never did.

He retired to bed twenty minutes later.

— **ox — xo —**

Sunday came uneventful.

Arthur decided it was best to stay in.

No one bothered him until two in the afternoon, and it just so seemed to be Lorenzo calling that pestered him.

"Hey, babe."

"It's Arthur."

"Artie—"

"Arthur," the dark brunet pressed.

"Fine. Arthur. Houston and Ariadne were wondering about a double date at the movies tonight at four."

Arthur shifted on the bed, considering. "What movie?"

"Whatever they choose, I guess. Can you come? It's going to be awkward as a third wheel here."

Arthur fingered the end of his shirt. "I'll see about it."

Lorenzo huffed. "Well, you better come. Later, Art."

"Yeah, later."

As he clasped the phone close, the young student peered at the mirror. He looked much better than last night, but did he want to test the waters again? He didn't want to give Lorenzo a feel that they're dating when they're not. It was just friends with benefits. Or something.

But did he want to go? Truthfully, yes.

He wanted a distraction and to get away, and the only way he could do that was through Lorenzo. But going there would mean more touching and more touching would lead to other actions, which would be against his father.

He could always stop the actions, but like before, he wasn't sure of he could. Experimenting the moment, he was usually captivated. It was only moments after did he pull away, and by then, it would be too late to take anything back.

He shouldn't go to the movies, but at three thirty on the clock, Arthur grabbed his keys and went.

As he pulled into the only theatre in the town, he felt rebellious. It felt nice, since he had a taste of freedom, but at the same time, he felt horrible. He thought about turning back, but once he was out of his car and was spotted by the other three, it was already too late. He put on a smile and paid for his ticket to some horror flick Houston and Lorenzo thought was amusing.

As they entered, Arthur felt Lorenzo's arm snake around his waist. At first, he allowed it to linger there, but when they found sears in the cinema, he pushed it off.

Arthur was sandwiched between Ariadne and Lorenzo, but with Houston on Ariadne's other side, it felt as if he was alone with Lorenzo. Since, after all, Ariadne was leaning towards Houston and Lorenzo was leaning towards Arthur.

That didn't help his situation any, but at least Lorenzo wasn't touching him everywhere. This way, Arthur could actually focus on the movie.

The movie began at night with random people screaming and running through the streets. Arthur was amused, but he could see Ariadne curling up in a ball as she leaned against Houston.

"Officer, any clue what's going on here?" a cop on screen shouted to another.

The officer that was addressed fondled with his gun, looking wary of the screaming citizens.

"Not sure. I hear there's a zombie apocalypse."

The first man snorted. "I doubt there's such things as zombies."

A second right after he said that, something jumped onto both men. The _thing_ seemed to have been skinned alive, blood dripping off said body. The face was disgusting.

It gave Arthur a startle. Beside him, Ariadne gasped, and Lorenzo, well, he screamed and the people around turned to look at him. The scream caused Arthur, and a few others to burst out laughing. When the laughter ended, Lorenzo nudged Arthur, sharing an amused grin. Arthur couldn't help but roll his dyes before returning his gaze to the screen.

The zombie lookalike was tearing down the two officers. It was pretty gory, and Arthur found himself reminded of the news report of that murderer from New York. His body chilled at that thought, but he waved it away to focus on the movie. By now, new characters have been introduced.

It was a family of four. A mother, father, and twin brother and sister. The mother was panicking, holding an axe. The children, looking no older than eight, wield a gun each. The father, on the other hand, was busy getting the car ready. Arthur thought that this was a really predictable movie where the father would die, then one of the children would die, leaving the mother and remaining child begging for mercy. And then that child turned into a zombie or something.

But alas, he couldn't see the end since his phone began vibrating in his pocket.

Excusing him and whispering to Lorenzo that he had a call, Arthur slipped into the lobby area and answered. "Hello?"

"Where are you?"

Arthur inwardly cursed.

It was his father.

"With my friends."

"Are you. You didn't ask permission. I want you back here in five minutes."

The other line hung up.

Arthur scowled. There went his afternoon.

Nonetheless, he complied to the orders.

As he made his way towards the entrance, he called Lorenzo. "Father wants me home," he explained.

"Wait. Don't leave yet."

Arthur halted at his place near the exit.

Seconds later, Lorenzo jogged out. "Hey," he greeted.

"I have four minutes to get home," Arthur said pointedly.

"Oh. Okay, we'll make this quick."

Grabbing the back of Arthur's neck, Lorenzo planted a kiss on the lips. This time, Arthur didn't kiss back; he pushed the other away.

"We're not dating," he repeated.

Lorenzo looked hurt again, and this time, he wasn't sure if the disappointed expression was fake or not.

"So you—"

It all came rushing to Arthur; mindlessly, he leaned up and pecked his classmate's lips and before anything else could be done, he drew away and made a beeline to his car.

— **ox — xo —**

His father was furious when he arrived at the foot of the door. His face was visibly darkened, his lip tightened, his hazel eyes glaring. He held his hand out, and Arthur knew exactly what his father was wanting. Reluctantly, he gave his keys over, but that wasn't the end of it.

"Where were you?" the older man questioned again.

"With my friends," the young teen repeated.

"Specifics."

"At the movies."

"And who was there?"

"Houston, Ariadne ... and Lorenzo."

He didn't mean to hesitate before saying the last name, but he did and his father, unfortunately, caught onto it.

"Lorenzo?"

"A friend," Arthur answered hastily.

"Hm. And what did this Lorenzo do to you?"

"Nothing," he replied, pressing the matter.

"Why is your shirt untucked?"

Arthur glanced down.

"Your shirt is usually tucked it. Your hair is usually slicked back." His father narrowed his gaze on him. "Do you have something to tell me?"

"No."

"No?"

"No, sir. Lorenzo is just—"

The other held up a hand for silence, and Arthur bit back his further words.

"You are forbidden to talk to him." His father held out his hand again. "Cellphone."

Arthur stared for a moment before unwillingly giving the device up.

"I already took your laptop, so there's no use looking for it."

Arthur's lips pressed together to refrain himself from saying something that could get him into more trouble.

"Your mother will drive you to school. You are grounded until you've improved. Dismissed."

With the final word heard, the dark brunet started up the stairwell.

He couldn't believe it; he hadn't even— alright, he had, and he probably deserved this.

And being grounded— that would mean that he would have no source of entertainment for however long he was grounded, meaning, he needed to change himself back to his original state and fast.

But he wasn't even aware that he had changed. Sure, he may have slacked off in some fields, but he didn't need to be all dressed up for the movies, right? Apparently he had to, according to his father.

He arrived at the foot of his room, scowling.

His father was being completely unfair. Then again, Arthur had disobeyed him, so this was obviously punishment. At least his father didn't find out; that would result in a worse punishment. So, basically, he had to suck it up and change. But at the moment, he didn't feel like doing anything.

He closed his door and proceeded to his bed where he continued to lay, thinking, for the next few minutes.

Gradually over time, his gaze somehow turned towards the mirror.

How did he act before to the sight of Eames? He ignored him and was suspicious. Now, Arthur didn't want to ignore him and rather hoping that he wouldn't die inside the mirror.

The cracks were getting bigger, though. And he couldn't even contact Mal until the next day.

Well, even if he did tell the other, she wouldn't be able to do anything. Since he was grounded, it meant no visitors, and since he didn't have his cellphone, that was out of the question as well.

So, basically, there was nothing that could be done. Eames would end up suffering and dying.

What would he do if he was stuck in a mirror and in the Englishman's situation? He would demand to be fixed, but from the looks of it, the other wasn't seeking his help. Did that mean that he was willing to die or suffer the pain? Or was he simply lying so that Mal could comfort him?

Arthur didn't know which was which and there wasn't a way he could prove it.

No— actually, there was one way. He _could_ press into the cracks. If what Eames claimed was right, then the other would feel a jab of pain. If not, then he was either trying to suffer or it was all a lie.

Arthur decided to test his theory out. After all, he had nothing else to be doing anyways.

Getting off his bed, the student paced over to the mirror with cracks that spread towards mid-centre. His fingertips brushed these cracks before trailing to the area where it all started. There, he pressed a bit firmly, then, seeing that the glass wasn't going to break, put more pressure on it. He was rewarded with an answer.

"Stop that."

At the sound and sight of the Englishman, Arthur jerked his hand away and stared, bewildered.

Eames looked absolutely horrible. He was clutching his side, his face twisted into a pained one.

Alright, so the other wasn't faking everything.

"That hurts, you know," the man continued coldly, gasping and squeezing his eyes shut after wards.

Instinctively, Arthur reached out and wordlessly ran his fingertips over the broken glass.

A few short breaths came from Eames before he peered up. Arthur's eyes met the oceanic ones again, and he saw something familiar within those eyes.

It was a common emotion— hope, want, gratitude? That's what he saw, but he wasn't sure what _Eames_ saw in return. What was in _his _own eyes? Pity, need, and confusion? Probably.

He drew his fingers away.

Their gaze continued to linger, but Arthur made no sound.

Eames didn't say anything either.

Five minutes in of their staring contest and soft wheezing, Eames left, leaving Arthur to stare at his own reflection.

— **ox — xo —**

Nothing could be more awkward than sitting in the car Monday morning with his mother as she drove him to school. Arthur was seriously debating on whether or not he should confront her, but strangling her seemed like a more logical action than taking it coolly. But he did neither.

Instead, he looked out his window, observing the houses and people he passed. They seemed free, wearing whatever they want and not have their parents starting to wonder. Arthur, on the other hand, was dressed just as before— button up, tucked in, tie, belt, slacks, dress shoes, hair slicked back, a cold expression on his face.

He continued to wear this expression as he got out of the car without word and proceeded to his locker. Lorenzo was there, greeting him with a smile.

Arthur wanted go say something, but he kept his mouth closed. He ignored the other and with his needed books, he walked off.

Lorenzo didn't grab him back, and as for Ariadne, when she asked for what happened yesterday, he replied with a stiff "_nothing_" and had the conversation end there.

Math class, he found it hard to ignore Dom. He _almost_ smiled, but he caught himself before that could happen.

Gym, the class before lunch, Ariadne tried talking to him, but he stayed quiet.

It was only when she demanded an explanation did he finally give in.

"I'm grounded until I change back to my original self."

"Oh."

She glanced away, thinking.

"I think ... your parents are being ridiculous. I like the new you. And Lorenzo—he really likes you. He won't give up easily."

Where had he heard that before?

Arthur scoffed. "He can move on."

Those words— they were the same directed to himself and to Eames and Mal.

Ariadne grabbed his arm. "You can be yourself here. Your parents won't know."

He jerked his arm away and glared at her. "No."

That was the last conversation he held with Ariadne in that class.

At lunch, he sat to himself, but he ended up next to Timothy, Cheyenne, and their new group. A few times, his gaze would stroll to the other table, and a few times, he would meet one of his original group's gaze, but none of the looks lasted long.

He finished his lunch and dismissed himself from the table.

As he wandered the empty hallways outside the cafeteria, he was fully aware that someone was following him. It was someone from his own group; he knew that much, and from the sound of the footsteps, it seemed to be a male.

Arthur was sure that it was Lorenzo, but he was wrong. It was Tadashi.

He and Tadashi weren't on the closest terms as he was with the others, so Arthur assumed that Tadashi was sent out because of Ariadne and them.

Arthur paused in his tracks and turned, looking steadily at the ravenet. "May I help you?"

The younger male said nothing but merely handed him a note before walking off.

Arthur glanced around, checking the scene as if he was about to commit a crime, then opened the note.

It was from those at his original table.

_Arthur _—

_Your parents won't know. Just put up a tough face at home. You can't ignore us forever. - Ari_

_Hey, babe. I want you to know that I forgive you for ignoring me earlier now that I know what's going on. Like Ari said, you should just ignore the rules here. Rules are meant for breaking, remember? - Renzo_

_Suck it up, bro. You're making my Ari worried, and Renzo won't shut up about you. - Houston_

_Though I'm not the biggest rule follower, you should just be yourself. Parents can't tie you down if you want to talk to us. Tell Eames Happy Birthday, by the way. - Mal_

_You're better with your other personality. I don't like this one. - Dom_

_I don't even know you, but for them to waste my piece of paper and my ink to write this to you, it would be helpful if you come back to us. - Tadashi_

Arthur kept the letter. He knew it was safer to throw it away, but the letter simply made him happier on the inside. He had people that _cared_— even though Tadashi didn't know him that well, but _still_.

How bad would it be to follow Ariadne's advice?

He could pretend, just as they stated, but the challenge was, he had to play both roles. He wasn't the best actor or liar, but the note itself gave him enough hope to at least try.

His first attempt came at history class with Ariadne.

He greeted her, as usual, with a smile, and she greeted him back.

Everything seemed fine after that.

When the bell rung, though, he forced his smile away. He ignored all that turned his way and continued on like he did in the morning.

In the car with his mother, he proceeded to stay silent. She did as well, thankfully.

When he arrived home, Arthur headed straight to his room. There, he closed the door and settled in. As usual, he got started on homework, but once that was done and he had nothing more to do, he turned his attention to the mirror.

"Mal said Happy Birthday," he started, not sure if Eames heard him or not.

There wasn't an answer, so Arthur simply assumed that he was being ignored.

The young brunet sighed and made his way to the mirror. His fingers stroked the broken glass again.

"Happy birthday," he murmured a moment later before retiring for dinner.

Dinner didn't go as well as planned. His mother remained silent throughout and his father was practically preaching what was right and wrong. Though his father wasn't a religious person, he still pressed the point that homosexuality was a sin and downright disgusting. Arthur, at the moment he heard that, couldn't help but want to retort something along the lines of "_have you tried kissing Lorenzo yet_?" but of course, such would get him in trouble, so he accepted it and moved along.

When dinner ended, Arthur returned to his room, checked on the mirror, then headed to take a shower.

When he came back fresh and clean, he found Eames in the mirror, seated. As Arthur froze and stared, the Englishman glanced up, then disappeared.

This continued for the rest of the week.

Arthur had approached Mal about it, and like he thought, she had no clue what to do.

So all of Saturday, Arthur puzzled over Eames' case while stroking the cracks in the mirror. By now, he had learned that they were soothing for the other man.

That was all he could do.

Promptly around three in the afternoon, Eames finally appeared.

Arthur drew his fingers away, like normal, and just watched as Eames leaned to one side, still clutching his side, and suffering the pain.

Arthur felt helpless. He was standing here watching someone die, and he could do nothing about it. Eames was heaving and grunting. They weren't talking, but Arthur could tell that the other was suffering.

He sat, his back against his bed, peering at the British male at the same level.

This continued for ten more minutes before Arthur reached up and began stroking the cracks again.

Eames inhaled sharply, and then seemed to relax.

Again, their eyes met, but no words were uttered.

Arthur searched the hues for a message, anything, but Eames wasn't showing him anything that wasn't seen before.

Fifteen minutes later, the teen pulled away and stood up.

As he prepared for dinner, he heard one word from the other man.

"Thanks."

And that was it.

As he ate dinner, he contemplated the word of thanks. What was Eames thankful for? Arthur stroking the broken glass? For throwing the pencil holder?

He wasn't entirely sure of the reason, but the tone of the other's voice was sincere.

It felt nice to be thanked, though, even if the reason was unclear. For the past few conversations, they had argued, so the word of thanks was completely unexpected.

He finished his dinner in a clattering manner within minutes. As Arthur went to dump the dishes in the sink, he felt his father's eyes pin to him.

Obviously, he wasn't doing the best job of returning to his original self. He didn't bother with it, though.

Not bidding a word of goodnight to his mother or father, he proceeded back up the stairs.

And of course, Eames wasn't present.

It wasn't like Arthur was expecting it, anyways. But he couldn't help but long to see the Englishman again as he was preparing for bed, but returning from his shower, Eames still hadn't appeared.

Arthur heaved a sigh and paced over. Though he had no intentions of purposely calling the man out, it didn't stop him from brushing his fingers along the cracks. No answer was given to him, so moments later, Arthur drew his hand away and headed bed.

He watched the mirror for quite some time.

Over time, he began to think.

What exactly was his relationship with Eames now? What would it be in the future?

Arthur didn't include the Englishman in his future. He had planned to leave Eames somewhere, or in this case, alone. But he knew that, even with Eames gone from his future, he would still hold the memories.

It wasn't like the memories were bad— it was just everything else that came along with it. If he were to think back and remember Eames, then he would also remember Dom, Lorenzo, and the whole ordeal he was in right now. He would remember how his heart fluttered one day, then broke another. He would remember his first, second, and third kiss (even though one wasn't returned and one was to glass). He would remember how his father shamed and grounded him.

And then, he could possibly remember the companions he made along the way— Mal, Ariadne, and them. And remembering them would be okay.

But for now, Arthur didn't need to remember. He was living the moment, and instead of dwelling about the future, he should be focused on the present. The present problems were making his parents, specifically his father, happy, and Eames.

He was in the process of turning back to his original self, at home, of course, but Eames— he didn't know what to do anymore.

Mal had nothing either.

All they could do was wait it out, which meant Arthur had to deal with it without the knowledge of how to solve it.

— **ox — xo —**

He woke up Sunday morning and heard breathing.

His heart began pounding as his mind quickly processed where the breathing was coming from. He glanced over. Eames was there, looking a bit more horrible. He was sucking in breaths and didn't seem to notice that Arthur woke up. Arthur surveyed his sights; the crack on the mirror was relatively bigger, which effected Eames' appearance. The Englishman was still clutching his side, wheezing, and supporting himself against the mirror.

Arthur, without thinking, threw his covers off and headed over to the mirror.

Eames noticed him then.

"Arthur—" His name was gasped and strangled, but it was actually nice to hear.

Arthur swallowed and raised his hand. He hesitated, his fingers floating a centimeter away from the broken glass. His eyes met the oceanic ones; pain— that was all he saw. It was pain, and probably the most unbearable sort.

Arthur's hand fell and he took a step back.

Eames squeezed his eyes close and slid down so he was sitting against the mirror.

"Been watching you," Eames whispered in short breaths. "All night. I ... I—" There was a sharp intake in air. "It hurts." The light brunet's free hand grabbed at his hair, pulling and tugging. "Arthur, I'm—"

"Be quiet," Arthur commanded, reaching out and brushing his fingertips over the cracks. "You're getting through this."

Eames laughed, but it was dry and lasted no more than two seconds.

Arthur's brow furrowed and his lips pressed into a thin line. "You will."

Eames peered up at him and cringed.

Arthur, his hand still stroking the part of the mirror, crouched down to the other's eye level. "I mean it, Eames."

The Englishman managed a small smile, though it was most definitely forced. "`s lovely how you say my ... my name."

"Does it hurt to talk?" Arthur questioned, ignoring the comment completely.

"A bit, yeah."

"Don't talk, then. Just ... just work with me."

Arthur trailed his fingers over the reachable area of the broken glass.

Eames' gasps became more even and softer. "Don't mind. Talking to you ... darling."

Arthur's chest tightened at the familiar nickname, but he paid no attention to it.

"You're hurting yourself more."

"You're worth it."

Arthur's hand froze and he stared. Eames stared back.

For some time, Arthur tried processing the words. He was worth it? He knew that, but to Eames? He caused this mess. He wasn't worth being spoken to unless he was being told off— but that would only hurt Eames more.

Just what was going through Eames mind? Putting up with pain just to reply to him? If Arthur was in that position, he would have ignored everyone. Or maybe not. He may never know; after all, he couldn't imagine being stuck in a mirror.

"You're ridiculous," he muttered, pulling his hand back to tend to his clenching chest. "Stop hurting yourself more."

Another dry laugh.

"This pain on my ... side is—" Another hiss of pain. "— nothing compared to another pain."

Arthur frowned. "Another pain?"

Eames smiled at him once more. "In my heart."

The feeling was entirely mutual, and knowing that, Arthur panicked.

Without word, he stood up and scrambled away from the mirror, needing room to breathe and think.

He left the bedroom hastily.

Arthur knew he was overreacting, that maybe it was a common feeling, but the feeling was mysterious to him; he had felt clenches in his chest before, but none were as painful as this.

Now, Arthur never studied much about heart diseases and heart attacks, so he wasn't sure if this was a symptom— who was he kidding? It was just a painful clench in his chest. He was a healthy kid, so it shouldn't be related to a heart disease.

If that was the case, then what was it? What was this feeling of dread and worry? Regret? Yes, he now regretted throwing the pencil holder, seeing that this was the consequence. He didn't intend for everything to end this way.

He needed to get Eames out somehow, but what could he do?

Obviously, the kiss didn't work. Stroking the glass was like stroking a wound— it wasn't going to heal.

What else could he do?

Arthur questioned himself repetitively as he paced along the hallways. In the end, he came to a conclusion that nothing could be done. Nothing at all.

He couldn't return to his room. He felt ashamed, regretful, like an accidental murderer.

He couldn't face Eames. Couldn't face being told thanks or spoken to— why was Eames even trying to make conversation with him? He's obviously in no state to talk, and yet, he pushed his limits to reply to Arthur, and their conversation wasn't even considered important. It was casual and could easily be avoided.

But what if, per se, that's all Eames wanted? For Arthur to be there and talk to him? It wasn't realistic, but Arthur kinda hoped that it could be. He enjoyed talking to Eames— just not the arguments and slip of unspeakable words. And Arthur wouldn't mind being around. He caused it, and all he wanted now was to resolve it.

Thing was, he couldn't muster up the courage to face Eames.

Why, though? It wasn't as if Eames could cone out of the mirror and strangle him. What exactly was he afraid of, then?

Arthur didn't know.

— **ox — xo —**

Monday returned once more.

Arthur rose up from his bed and rubbed his eyes from sleep. He yawned and then proceeded to make his way to the bathroom. The night before, he had stayed up past midnight simply thinking. At one point, he could sworn Eames had shown himself, but when he rolled over to check, the other was gone. It was probably just his imagination. Now, Arthur was trying to push the thoughts out of his mind. It was two weeks before Fall Break, which meant that quarter tests were coming up. He needed to focus on studies now. When he gets home, he could think about the case.

"How's Eames?"

Already, it was the end of the school day, and Arthur was at his locker, extracting his homework materials out, when Mal approached him with the question.

"Gradually worse, it seems like."

Mal fell silent, and Arthur used that time to finish grabbing his items. After closing and locking his locker, he turned to the other female. "There's nothing we can do."

Mal stiffened. "There must be something," she whispered feverishly.

Arthur shifted the books in his arms.

"Have you tried ... kissing him again?"

Arthur's eyes flashed. "No," he replied sharply. "It didn't work. It won't work now."

"Have you stroked—"

"Everyday," he admitted. "It doesn't make him better. Why is this—" he hesitated briefly. "— why is he important to you?"

Mal gave him a sharp look. "He's human."

The answer hurt. Of course Eames was human.

"Do you care?" she questioned in response, but in a quiet voice.

Arthur tried to ignore the question by side stepping Mal and making his way towards the exit. He knew he was panicking again, because the moment he heard the question, his head screamed _yes_. Yes, he did care. He cared to a point in which his thought revolved around the Englishman every other minute. Or maybe it was just worry.

"You're running away," Mal called out.

Arthur hustled out of the building, not wanting to hear from Mal until he could draw his head from the confusion. On his way out, he ignored Ariadne's greeting, but luckily, before she could ask what was wrong, she had caught sight of his parent's car and bid a farewell.

Arthur slid into the vehicle without word and closed the door behind him. His mother drove him home in silence. When the engines were turned off, she finally spoke.

"I'm sorry."

Arthur had pushed the door open, but he didn't get up. He listened.

"I didn't think your father would react like this. It's unfair, but we're doing what's best for you. You'll only get beaten up and hated if you ... like men."

Arthur's face turned dark and he glared at the woman. "I can take care of myself," he said with a hint of snap in his voice.

He didn't stay around for the rest of the lecture.

After grabbing the keys and his items, he headed towards the door. As he entered, his mind escaped from his mother's words to Eames, and with that, he bolted up the stairs.

His backpack dropped to the ground and his items in his hands were discarded on his bed. He made his way over to the mirror in a bouncy manner.

"Shit," he whispered, trailing his fingers along the cracks.

By now, one of the cracks had reached the other end of the mirror. It wouldn't be long until the whole mirror was broken.

"Eames," he called out softly, his heart thundering in his ear. "Eames? Are you alright? Fuck." He stroke the cracks. "I'm here, Eames. Jesus—"

Just what the hell was he doing? This was not him. It was far from him. Arthur wasn't suppose to care.

His fingers clenched into a fist as he drew it away from the mirror.

He was shaking. His hands were trembling, and his legs could barely hold him up.

He sat and cupped his head.

Maybe Eames was sleeping. Maybe he was just sleeping.

Arthur tried to convince himself of that, but it wouldn't seep through.

"Dammit, Eames," he hissed, fingers curling around his locks. "This is your fault. Entirely your—"

"Arthur ..."

At the sound of his name, the young teen snapped from his thoughts and quickly scrambled to the mirror.

"Eames—"

Eames was on the ground, arms around his stomach, looking very much in pain and equally horrible.

"God, Eames. I thought—"

"Arthur," the other wheezed, placing a hand on the mirror to steady himself.

Arthur, fuck everything, placed his hand over the one on the other side of the mirror.

"`m sorry. I'm so ... fucking sorry, Arthur."

"Shut up. Stop talking."

Arthur gazed at the eyes that glazed with tears. He dropped his gaze immediately afterwards.

"Forgive me—"

"Shut up, Eames! Goddammit, you're dying— you're dy ..."

No, he was not going to cry. He won't.

"I lo—"

"You're _dying_, you bastard! Shut the hell up for once!"

Arthur jerked his hand away and pushed himself to his feet before briskly walking to the bathroom.

He couldn't take it anymore.

Eames was dying, and it's his fault.


	11. Chapter 11

**Warning;** alternate universe, supernatural, teen! Arthur, homophobia

**Disclaimer;** when Arthur doesn't want specificity.

**Author's Notes;** So, I'm predicting that there would be three or four more chapters. Possibly more. Not sure**—** but I'm aiming towards three more chapters. I want to thank those who still read and review; I love you guys! Oh, and kudos to you if you can figure out what internal organ the mirror is connected to. Annnd, I think that's it. Enjoy this chapter ~ :B

* * *

His mother was suspicious, and Arthur didn't blame her. He was, after all, literally yelling at the mirror, and he couldn't use the excuse that he was on the phone because his phone wasn't even on him. He knew she was curious of what the hell was going on in his room, but he avoided her curious gaze. He didn't know how to explain something so simple, yet complex.

But he couldn't _just_ ignore her.

He had one of two choices: stay in the room and dwell on Eames' state or don't stay in the room and have his mother nosing around. The bathroom was a fair place to stay for the first hour, but who would want to stay in a bathroom, staring at the shower, for more than an hour? Not Arthur, so he left the bathroom and his room.

It sucked because he didn't have a car of a phone; he could really use a joyride or at least someone to talk to**—** someone like Ariadne, since she seemed to be the only one he could get along with and not have memories and emotions attached.

— **ox — xo —**

He didn't want to get up Tuesday**—** well, get up and out of bed, because he couldn't sleep at all. The entire night, he stated up ad listened to Eames' ragged breathing. Eames wasn't standing, but by the breathing alone, Arthur knew that the other was there. This sent a panicking chill down the dark brunet's spine.

Before, Eames didn't watch him sleep; for the past couple of days, Eames admitted to. Arthur knew this change of action must mean _something_. And that something, he dreadfully came to the conclusion of, was that Eames was dying.

That thought continued to make him sick in the stomach.

He couldn't pull himself out of bed to get ready for school, but school was where he got away. He wanted to leave the room, the house, and everything he had to pretend for at home. He just needed to forget, but unfortunately, forgetting wasn't that easy.

Mal was at school, and so was Dom and Lorenzo. It seemed like everywhere he went, there was always some sort of memory tailing behind.

The only memory that wasn't bad belonged to Ariadne, or so, his mind seemed to think.

Dom started it all. Houston gave him away to Lorenzo. Lorenzo was a temporary getaway. Mal was linked to Eames. And Tadashi**—** well, he brought the memory of what happened to his locker. Ariadne was in a similar position, but she helped out.

Did that matter, though? The bullying phase was nearly gone, which was surprising since Lorenzo fancied touching him in public places.

But that was aside the point.

He needed to get up and**—**

"Arthur, are you okay?"

He jumped at the voice belonging to his mother. With hands clutching the blankets to his chest, he took a few calming breaths from the surprise.

"I'm fine."

The man in the mirror next to him wasn't, though, as one could tell from the excessive wheezing.

Arthur slid out of the bed to the left in attempt to distract his mother. It didn't work. She paced over and peered at the broken glass.

"Do you like him?"

Arthur's heart just stopped, and he could have sworn everything**—** Eames' breathing included**—** stopped too. There was no way that she could see Eames. If she had, then she would have known his situation with the mirror all along.

She turned to him. "Tell me, Arthur."

Arthur's mouth fell open slightly. He was wordless. Completely and utterly wordless.

"I'm here for you. I want you to know that. I may be your step-mother, but I ... I feel as if you're my son."

Finally, Arthur snapped from daze. His brows furrowed. "You're not my mo**—**"

"You won't let me be your mother. I want to help you."

"It's not any of your concerns."

"Do you like him?" she pressed, much like Mal. Arthur was surprised that her voice could even be this bold.

He hesitated, though.

It wasn't like he didn't like Eames. It was just**—** it was just a really complicated feeling that he, himself, was unsure of.

"I don't have an answer."

"Do you want to see him again?"

Arthur's brows furrowed. What was she talking about?

"I'm afraid I don't comprehend."

"I don't want to hold you back. You're grown now. You should be able to make your own choices." She tossed something to him, and he instinctively caught it. "Don't do anything reckless, though. Father won't be pleased."

Arthur stared at her, his mouth still hanging open ever so slightly. His fingers were curled around his car keys. "What ..."

She gave him a small smile. "Our little secret. Just don't let it mess with your grades."

"Why are you**—**"

"I want you to forgive me for telling him."

The keys pressed against his palm, and his mouth clamped shut. This was most definitely random.

"You're lying."

Her face darkened. "I'm on your side."

"Whatever you're trying to pull, it won't work."

"Arthur." She rounded the bed and grabbed his shoulders. "I want you to be happy. You deserve happiness."

"I know."

She let go of his shoulder and took a step back. "You've become disrespectful."

"I'm not in the mood," Arthur said coldly, tone as a warning.

"I should take the keys back, but I won't. Maybe seeing that boy again would make you happier."

"I'm not gay," he pressed again, face twisting into a frustrated one. "It's a sin to be gay**—**"

This was what his father wanted him to be. This was what**—**

He felt a slap against his cheek.

"It is not a sin," his mother said furiously. "If you love him, then I'm not stopping you, and don't you dare let anyone else stop you."

Arthur gazed at the floor, fists tightening.

"Don't change for your father. He's just stressed. He loves you, no matter your decision."

Arthur exhaled a couple of times. "Please leave," he requested moments later.

His mother shifted back. "Arthur**—**"

"Stop saying my name! You're not my mother; you'll never be. This doesn't change anything. You**—**"

"I'm sorry. Isn't that**—**"

"Get out," he hissed, flush of anger rising on his cheeks.

"Just remember what I said." She shuffled away from him.

"Your words mean nothing," he scowled as she made her way out of the room.

When he received no answer in return, Arthur slid down and sat against the wall. He buried his head and choked back the tears. He wasn't sure what the hell just happened, but it wasn't him. It was far from him. It was as if a monster inside of him was released.

He should apologize**—** but he didn't want to. He couldn't face the shame, and he couldn't face that question either. Speaking of which**—**

"Eames," his voice whispered out as he scrambled to his feet and made his way to the mirror. "Eames, are you alright?"

This time, the other appeared before him on his second call. He was still leaning against the mirror, obviously in pain.

"Yeah ... just hurts. That wasn't ... nice. Your mother**—**"

"I don't want to talk about her," he snapped, but seeing Eames' expression, he softened unconsciously. "You should stop moving a lot."

"Best ... idea ever, pet." Eames gasped and dropped his head against the glass.

Arthur began fearing again. He needed to call Mal. He needed Mal here.

"So, do you ... ?"

Arthur lifted his gaze to meet the blue-green eyes. "Do I?"

"Love ... like me?"

If avoiding the question from his mother was hard, then this was definitely harder. He wanted to run from it, but what good would that do?

"Arthur ..."

Shit, shit, _shit_.

How was he supposed to reply? What was Eames expecting? A yes, of course, but did Arthur really? Even in this case, he couldn't make himself lie.

"I ... I don't know," he admitted, back pressing against the bed, arms hugged around his legs. "I don't know anymore. I don't want to do this. I'm supposed to be prim and proper, and I let my emotions get the best of me."

"Human feelings," Eames wheezed out. "Been through them ... millions of time. Never felt ... this strong for someone."

Arthur placed his forehead on his knees. He couldn't face Eames. He couldn't bring himself to.

"I ... enjoyed our talk ... and shit. Yeah ... dammit, it hurts. I**—**" Another strangled gasp. "Talk to me, Arthur. Want to hear your voice."

Again, Arthur found himself shaking and forcing tears back.

He wasn't weak. He wasn't pathetic. Eames wasn't either. They were going to pull through this. Together.

"I'm sorry," the dark brunet murmured. "It's not supposed to end this way."

"Hasn't ended. And ... if it does**—** fucked up Romeo ... and Juliet, remember?" Eames laughed, but like before, it was dry and ended in a cough.

"This is not a fucking love story," Arthur murmured.

"Tragedy," the Englishman supplied.

Arthur's gaze snapped up. "You're not going to die!" he scowled. "You'll get through it**—** I'll help."

"You have ... school."

"Fuck school," Arthur said nonchalantly, surprised of his own voice. "I'm staying here, by your side whether you like it or not."

Eames continued to meet his gaze. And ever so slightly a smile quirked at the corner of his mouth. It showed a bit of hope above all the pain.

"... Thank you."

"Don't thank me. I'm doing it for myself."

Eames let out a shaky breath. "Love you," he breathed moments later.

Arthur felt his heart beginning to pound again.

— **ox — xo —**

Dinner was awkward because of two reasons: one, his mother was ignoring him completely, and two, his father was lecturing him about getting a good job after graduating.

And then Mal came up.

"Who was the young lady?"

"Pardon?"

"The one that returned your book."

"Mal."

"I like her. Ask her out. She's the only exception I'm willing to make."

Arthur nearly choked on his food. "She's unavailable."

"Make her available."

"No."

His father's temper rose after that. "What?"

"No," Arthur replied stiffly.

His father was furious. "You won't even try?"

"I have no interests in her."

"She's a lovely lady."

"I agree, but she's not my type."

"Are you becoming a queer again?" his father sneered.

Arthur rose to his feet, Eames flashing across his mind. He needed to get back to Eames. "What if I am?"

"You dare**—**"

"Please," his mother spoke up. "Stop it. Both of you."

"You helped him," his father scowled. "You know he's going to be**—**"

"He can take care of himself. Please calm**—**"

"My son is a faggot," he hissed.

Arthur dropped his plate on the floor and listened as it shattered, sending glass all around. "No. Arthur is a faggot. You don't have a son."

He prepared for a blow, but before he could receive it, his mind switched gears and he bolted.

He was scared. Anyone with a brain could tell that by how he ran into his bedroom, locked his door, and balled himself up in front of the mirror. His breaths came in pants, but the sound of footsteps approaching his bedroom stopped his breathing.

There was a knock.

And another.

"Come out here this instant!"

His father was raging, and that alone was the main reason why Arthur didn't move. He stayed by his bed, arms around himself, rocking slightly.

"Do not ignore me, Arthur!"

There was continuous pounding on the door.

"Just go."

He didn't budge at the sound of Eames' voice.

"What did**—**"

"Shut up!"

"Did you just tell me to shut up?" his father demanded. "You have one minute to pack your things. You are**—**"

"Please calm down." His mother to the rescue. Joy. But considering his situation, Arthur was forever grateful for his mother to step in.

"I want him out of the house!"

"Calm down!"

"What's going on ... ?"

Arthur dropped his arms and peered at Eames. He was confused.

Arthur opened his mouth to say something, but at that exact moment, there was a loud crash into his door. Instinctively, he ducked at the noise, hoping that his father hadn't broken through or thrown his mother against it. There wasn't a cry, though; just more screaming from both parties. Arthur, again, found himself worthless. He wanted to go out there and jump into the fight, defend his mother for defending him, but he had nothing, and he was shit at fighting physically.

"Arthur ..." His attention switched back to Eames, who gasped for breaths. "I can't ... fuck."

Arthur cursed and scrambled to the front of the mirror. His fingers trailed over Eames' forehead that was pressed against the glass.

"Where does it hurt?"

There was screaming in the background still, but Arthur found his attention occupied on the figure in front of him. His father and mother could wait; Eames could not.

"`verywhere ..."

"Can you feel me?"

"Y-Yeah ..."

"Where?"

"Forehead."

Arthur reached up and stroke the starting point of the broken glass.

"Hip?" he questioned.

Eames nodded slightly.

He drew his hand back.

What could he do? Nothing, like before.

"He's your son!" And the yelling outside didn't help him with his panicking state either.

He tried to shove his father and mother out of the picture; he tried brainstorming for ways**—** ways to get Eames out or at least stop the pain. Nothing came to him.

"Arthur ... Arthur."

His gaze snapped back to Eames. The Englishman had his eyes squeezed close, flaunting the fact that he was trying to endure the pain.

"Don't talk," the young brunet murmured, hesitating slightly.

Eames shifted slightly. "S'hard ... to breathe."

"Don't you dare die on me**—**"

"Arthur!" He promptly ignored his father's booming voice. "I will break in if you do not open the door this instant!"

Arthur's gaze continued to linger on Eames, caring not for his father's commands, but when he heard a rattle and the door opening, his heart jumped to his throat.

Arthur quickly scrambled to his feet, bracing himself as he watched his father stalk nearer and nearer by each passing second. He found himself holding his breath. He also found himself searching for his mother. She stood at the door, an apology planted on her face. She wasn't going to step in. She was worthless, after all. His attention, however, was jerked from his mother to his father, who now had grabbed his collar and heaved him over a few inches.

"I will not hesitate to disown you," his father said sternly.

"Do it," Arthur challenged, but immediately regretted it. He didn't want to be disowned; he had an entire life in front of him.

"Do not use that tone**—**"

"It's my choice. It doesn't involve you."

"You will get bullied**—**"

"Already have," Arthur spat. "And thanks to my friends, I got through it."

His father's grip loosened slightly, but his eyes were still firm. "I raised you. This is my house. You follow my rules."

"I'm seventeen. I'm not stupid**—**"

"If you're not stupid, then you would know that you're committing a sin," his father hissed.

"I'm not the only gay person**—**"

"You're my only child. You are my heir**—**"

"I'm not your child." The moment those words spilled from his lips, he felt a stinging pain in his cheek. It was only then did his mother step it.

She grabbed his father's arm. "Let him go," she ordered. "If you love him enough, you would understand that this is the decision he's making."

His father threw her a glare, then, ever so slowly, let go of Arthur.

The young teen stumbled back, dissatisfaction and hatred written all over his face.

His father glared at him. "Consider yourself stripped from your freedom. You _will _change."

And then, to Arthur's terror, his father looked at the broken mirror. "Why do you have this in your room? It's going to end up breaking." But thankfully, without further word, the other turned and left his room.

His mother opened his mouth to say something, but Arthur beat her to it. "Save it. I need time to think." She, wordless, nodded, then made her way out, closing the door behind her.

Arthur let out a breath before switching his gaze over to Eames. "Are you okay?" he asked, crouching down and trailing his fingers over the other's forehead.

The Englishman nodded slightly. "Why ... d'you still keep ... the mirror here?"

Blue-green eyes turned to meet his gaze.

Arthur's mouth suddenly went dry.

Why _had _he kept Eames?

"I ... care, I suppose," he murmured, eyes flickering away.

"Care ... ?"

"Yes," Arthur gritted out, sitting back against his bed. "I care. Unlike my father ... I ... I did this to you, and you're dying, and I don't know what to do. I feel helpless, and I need a getaway; I keep going back to Lorenzo, but father ... I tried, I fucking tried." He lowered his head into his arms. "I'm not a murderer. I don't want you to die, Eames. I ..."

"Arthur."

Arthur exhaled and closed his eyes. "There's too much stress. Too much shit. I just want a break. And you're ... you were my break from reality. You cared and helped me when no one else could. I ... appreciate that. And**—** God, Eames. Don't die. Please don't die."

"Arthur."

"I've been a selfish**—**"

"Bloody hell, Arthur! Look at me!"

Arthur glanced up slowly and blinked.

Then blinked again.

The next thing he knew, he was on his feet, his palms on the mirror.

"You were pretending all this time? You bastard**—** I should just break the**—** what the hell ..."

Arthur dropped his gaze to the cracks. They weren't touching the other end of the mirror, and Eames**—** well, Eames looked better. Though he was still leaning against the mirror, he didn't look as if he was in the dying state. He was grinning.

Arthur stared.

"I wasn't faking. Your words ... it made me happy, and I don't know**—** my hip doesn't hurt much anymore."

Arthur seriously wanted to slap Eames, but he resorted to _beaming_. He couldn't help it. A surge of relief had washed over him.

"I need to call Mal," he stated urgently. "Shit. I don't have my phone." He was practically fumbling with some happiness that he had never felt before. "She needs to know."

Arthur quickly ushered towards his nightstand and grasped his keys. When he lifted his gaze to meet the oceanic eyes, he saw gratitude**—** joy**—** and Arthur knew his eyes were reflecting the same emotion.

"I'll be back. I need to tell her." He ushered towards the door, but before his hand touched the handle, Eames spoke up.

"Wait, darling. Come back."

And Arthur, still bouncing with excitement, reverted his step and headed back over. "You called?"

Eames chuckled, and this time, the laughter wasn't dry and forced. It came naturally.

"I just wanted to see your dimples up close."

"Oh, well**—**" Arthur flashed a bright smile. "Happy?"

"Very much so. You're beautiful. So fucking gorgeous**—** I'm overjoyed, love. I really am."

"Good. I need to visit Mal**—**"

"Alright. Run along."

Arthur's cheeks ached from grinning, but he didn't falter. "I'll be back. I can promise you that**—**"

"Give me a kiss first."

And Arthur did. He pecked the mirror where Eames' lips were at before straightening up.

After sharing one final look, Arthur was out the door.

He was just about out the door when he heard his mother's voice, stopping him.

"Don't go," she whispered, gripping his arm. From the sight of her eyes, he knew that she had been crying. His happy spirit disappeared. "Your father loves you. He doesn't mean it**—**"

His father; the subject just boiled his blood, but much to his fortune, his thoughts reeled back to what he was going to do, and that was to visit Mal. He felt much better, but still, he didn't want to think of his or his parent's situation.

"Can I have my cellphone back?" he dared to question.

Her lips trembled, and her eyes glazed over. "Please think about what you're doing. He's sorry; I'm sorry**—**"

"I'm not leaving." At least, not _yet_. "I just need my cellphone." He shook off her grip.

"What ... what for?" she asked, looking hesitant.

Arthur was frustrated. He just needed his phone, but he knew he wasn't getting it without a logical explanation.

"I want to call a friend."

She stared at him for some time before switching his gaze away.

"Are you going to call him?"

Him?

His brows furrowed.

Did she mean Dom?

"Him?" Arthur echoed.

"The boy**—** the one that last left here."

Eames? No**—** Lorenzo. She must be talking about Lorenzo.

"No ... it shouldn't matter." Except that he was banned from speaking to the other.

Her steady gaze returned. "You never answered my question."

She was making this complicated.

Arthur scowled slightly, but kept his cool. He needed the phone, if not, he needed to get out. From the looks of it, she wasn't letting him go.

"Which question?"

"Do you lo**—** like him?"

That was some sort of relief; it came to him that, before, back when she was facing the mirror, asking the same question before tossing him his car keys, she was referring to Lorenzo, not Eames. So Eames was safe for now. But Arthur apparently wasn't, since he was obviously taking a bit of time to answer.

"Does it matter?" he muttered.

"Yes," she stressed.

Arthur gripped the handle of the door again, and his mother grabbed his arm once more.

"Don't go. I promise you it'll get better."

"I'm visiting a friend," he replied, gritting through his teeth.

She didn't seem to believe him.

"Either that or the cellphone," he responded as coolly as he could manage.

She drew her hand away. "Cellphone," she decided, gesturing him over to the pantry. She then removed a couple of boxes before handing him the phone. "Don't tell your father," she warned.

Arthur couldn't help it; he beamed. "Thank you."

And with that, he was hurrying up the stairs once more.

He opened the door to his bedroom, a smile threatening his lips. When Eames greeted him, though, the smile broke loose.

"Back so soon, darling? I hope you didn't get a speeding ticket."

"Of course not," Arthur responded, closing the door to ensure his privacy. "My cellphone was returned to me." He held up his black cellular device to show that he had gotten it back.

"Put it on speaker?"

Arthur nodded and quickly dialed Mal's number. As it started to ring, the young teen impatiently went to the mirror, raising a hand and placing it over the one Eames had on the mirror.

The Englishman smiled, the corners of his mouth stretching into a grin that would make Cheshire cat proud.

And then, finally, Mal decided to pick up.

"Is something wrong?" she sounded worried, and that was almost laughable.

Arthur didn't laugh though**—** well, he tried not to. "Yes," he answered, shooting Eames a look that plainly commanded the other not to protest.

"What happened?" she demanded.

"Well," he drawled out, "the mirror isn't really bro ... ken." There was hesitation in the last few syllables since his eyes ran to the cracks on the mirror; they had reached midpoint, and Eames didn't seemed in pain at all. He was healing quickly.

"Pardon?"

Since Arthur fell speechless, Eames took over. "I'm brilliant, Mal. Thanks to Arthur here."

"What did you do?" she pressed, seeming to be unable to contain her happiness and excitement.

By now, Arthur had dawned back down to Earth. "We're not exactly sure," he admitted.

The other line fell silent. Arthur used the time given to him to draw his hand away from the mirror. Though Eames seemed reluctant to pull his own hand away, it didn't stop either of them from grinning broadly.

In Eames' smile, Arthur could see the happiness, and that alone warmed his heart. Eames really did have a gorgeous smile. He wondered why he never paid attention to it before. But now, since he had taken notice of the smile, he was sure that he would never skim pass it again. In return, Arthur hadn't smiled this much in years, so his cheeks began to hurt. He relaxed them and glanced away, embarrassed.

"Is it possible that I can visit?"

His attention snapped back to the phone on speaker.

"I'm in ... a tight situation with my parents."

"Oh," she hesitated slightly, "alright. Are you okay?"

"Yeah**—**" His eyes met Eames' knowing gaze. "Yes, I'm fine."

"Just making sure. Take care of him, alright?"

A small smile appeared on the dark brunet's lips. "I'll try."

Mal laughed. "Was there a particular reason why you weren't here today?"

Right. He missed a day of school for the first time in three years. There went his streak.

"I wasn't feeling as well and overslept."

"I see. Well, see you tomorrow, then?"

"Yeah, tomorrow."

"Bye, Eames."

"Later, Mal."

As Arthur disconnected the line, he switched his eyes back on the Englishman. Eames wasn't grinning as much, but there was still a shadow of a small smile tinted on his lips.

"I really want to snog you senseless," the light brunet murmured basically out of nowhere, "but I'm stuck in this damn mirror."

Eames stuck out his bottom lip slightly, pouting. And Arthur, in return, really, really wanted to kiss Eames, but of course, the mirror was in the way, and he didn't want another episode where his heart would be broken because of his lust.

Eames seemed to like him, though, and that thought made Arthur's heart flutter. But he couldn't trust what the other was saying. Maybe he was just a toy and nothing more. That thought made his chest clench and his smile fade.

Apparently, his actions didn't go unnoticed by Eames, whose smile also disappeared. "Did I say something wrong?"

Arthur shook his head to answer and so he could clear his thoughts.

"Arthur." The young teen blinked as he was addressed again. "I want you to be honest with me." There was no play in Eames' tone or expression; he simply gazed at Arthur with a serious look.

"I'm fine," the dark brunet responded, lifting his brow ever so slightly in a question.

Eames eyed him for a few more silent seconds before smiling again. "Alright, if you insist. Now ... what do we do?"

Arthur feebly shrugged. "I need to take a shower."

"You take two a day," the Englishman said blankly.

"Your point?" the student challenged.

"Well, it's a lot of water you're wasting."

Arthur's nose crinkled slightly. "It's not wasted if it cleans you."

Eames stuck out his bottom lip in a pout once more. "Always with the comebacks."

"And good ones at that," Arthur replied, a soft grin working its way to his lips.

Eames chuckled. "I don't feel any pain."

The sudden change of topic brought Arthur back to reality, and his smile faded temporarily.

"There are still a few cracks in the mirror," he stated, tracing his fingers over the broken glass.

"That tickles," Eames started, and Arthur, wanting to see the humor in this, began tickling the broken glass. And Eames clutched his side, barking with laughter.

Finally, seconds later, Arthur gave into mercy and pulled his hand away. Eames straightened up after a bit, a wide grin still on his expressions.

"When I'm out of the mirror, you're going to be tickled. Seriously, Arthur."

The dark brunet rolled his eyes, but laughed dryly. "I'll be looking forward to it."

"That is, if I ever get out," Eames murmured in addition.

At the sound of that, Arthur fell silent and glanced away. He was shameful to the fact that he didn't know how to get Eames out. There _must_ be a way out. Arthur just didn't know how.

Maybe Eames did have to experience death, but at this moment, he didn't want to try at death again. Arthur couldn't see someone die, or in any case, commit the crime. His eyebrows furrowed as he thought, but before he could think further, there was a slight sound of cracking to the side.

His sights snapped over and immediately, his heart began to pound.

The cracks were bigger than before. And Eames was sitting on the ground, arms wrapped around his legs. The eyes were downcast.

"Eames, are you okay?" His panicking state returned as he quickly had his fingers dance over the broken glass. "Eames?" he called again, eyes on the unmoving male.

When the Englishman continued to ignore him, Arthur crouched down and touched the part of the mirror where Eames' hands were located.

"Can you hear me? Eames!"

His heart was pounding madly against his chest. His mouth ran dry. He couldn't believe it**—** what just happened?

"Eames, can you hear me?" he asked again, this time, a bit louder.

"Yeah, yeah," the opposing figure responded, sending waves of relief through Arthur.

But the relief left him the moment he heard cracks again. This could _not _be happening.

"Where does it hurt?" he questions feverishly.

"My hip is fine. It's not ... the hip's healed. It's ..." Eames heaved a sigh and lifted his head faintly. "I could be stuck here forever. You'll be off to college soon, and you'll meet someone**—**" Eames' voice cracked along with the mirror. "**—** I won't be in your existence."

"I won't forget you," Arthur responded firmly.

Eames snorted, rocking himself slightly. "You won't remember me when you're married ... and have a family, and**—**"

"Eames, that's the future," the young teen said firmly.

Eames exhaled once more. "I know. I just ... I won't be able to bare you leaving. I've grown attracted to you, though it's been how many months? Two? Three?"

"Two," Arthur confirmed.

The other nodded jerkily. "Arthur, I ... I honestly want to be with you. I want to be able to**—**"

Eames glanced up to meet his eyes. Arthur tried to swallow, but his dry mouth prevented it. He continued to stare.

"I want to love you, kiss you, hold you. But I'm in this sodding mirror just because I was stupid**—** I was completely stupid, and I'm sorry. I want to take it all back. I want**—**" Eames' breathed hitched and his sights turned away. "I want you."

The last three words were whispered, but Arthur had listened intently enough to catch them. He didn't know what to do in return; he refused to run simply because he was afraid of his own feelings, but with his heart pounding rapidly in his chest, it was hard not to run.

His eyes scrolled away from Eames and turned to the ground.

He believed Eames. Or at least, he really wanted to believe the other. But what difference was Eames from the rest? Perhaps Arthur was just that desperate to be wanted and held**—** to be loved. Didn't everyone, though? He could have also chosen Lorenzo, but if he were given a choice at the moment, he would definitely choose Eames. And yet, Arthur wasn't sure if the emotion towards the Englishman was simply care or _something else_.

"Look at me."

Arthur lifted his gaze towards the other male. Eames was gazing at him, looking as if he was about to cry, but had not yet shed a tear. Their eyes met without hesitation.

"Tell me how you feel about me."

The young teen opened his mouth to reply, but he fell silent. He still hadn't figure out how he felt about Eames. He closed his mouth, feeling rather stupid.

Arthur knew that he wanted Eames as a companion**—** as a friend. He knew that he was extremely happy with the man not too long ago. He knew that he was worried and cared.

A calming breath escaped him. "I'm not sure. You're ..." he paused and tried to think of something that wouldn't sound as dull. In the end, he lamely finished with "a good companion". After that, he could only listen to the thundering of his heartbeat in his ears.

Eames nodded slightly and took out a held in breath. "I'm being selfish," the Englishman started. "I ... I used you to try to get out, but I don't now. I learned my lesson. And ... I want you to be happy. Whether it's with me or not."

Arthur's gaze dropped to Eames' moving lips forming the cautious words.

"I can only hope that you choose me, but**—**" Eames laughed, but it was heartless and fake. "**—** I can't even touch you." Eames sniffed and glanced away.

There was another crack sound from the mirror. It was breaking again.

"I can't kiss you, hold you**—** I want to, Arthur. I want to so much."

"Eames," Arthur cut off, his voice shaking.

"I'm sorry for making this awkward between us, darling. I ... couldn't keep it in."

Arthur shook his head and leaned back against his bed. "I'm just confused about my feelings," he murmured.

Because, after all, what if Eames _was _a figment of his imagination? Or what if this was simply a dream? He would wake up and find that Eames never existed and neither did Dom, Ariadne, Lorenzo, Mal, or the others.

But he knew, somehow, that this was reality, which meant he could be having feelings for someone inside a mirror.

Okay, so maybe he did like Eames. Maybe he wanted to kiss those delicious lips and run his fingers through the hair. But obviously, those actions couldn't be done with Eames trapped in a mirror. Their relationship would be based on talking. Not that Arthur had a problem with that, but it wasn't like he could hang out in front of a mirror for years.

He licked his bottom lip and glanced back up. Eames wasn't looking at him, so he cleared his throat to catch attention.

"If we ... were to have a relationship, what would we do?"

Eames' eyes immediately snapped up to meet his own. "Anything we can, darling."

Arthur ended up biting his bottom lip.

"Does this mean that you**—**" Eames straightened a bit as he asked this. "**—**that you fancy me or am I sadly mistaken?"

Arthur managed a small shrug. "I'm not sure," he mumbled. "I ... like you, Eames. As**—** as a friend."

"Oh."

Eames' expression clearly masked one of disappointment.

"It's not**—**"

"It's alright, Arthur. I understand." There it was again: the hitch in the Britishman's voice. "Don't feel sorry for me. I deserve this."

"You don't**—**"

"Don't, Arthur. I did, and you know it. I ... I need some time to think. Excuse me."

Eames turned, but Arthur quickly reached out and placed a hand on the mirror. "Eames, don't go." Too late. Eames was gone, leaving cracks that had now reached the other side of the mirror again.

Fuck.

— **ox — xo —**

It was Friday morning, but Arthur didn't head off to school. He was wielding a few bruises from where his father grabbed him and shoved him into a wall during a few lectures about his sexuality. And of course, to his misfortune, his mother was out grocery shopping and his possessions were locked away out of sight of his father. But that was all last night.

An hour after the fight, when he finally came out of the bathroom with puffy eyes that flaunted the fact that he had been crying, Eames consoled him. They talked quietly for hours on end. At four A.M., he fell asleep to Eames' soft lullaby.

This morning, he overslept by hours and his parents didn't even bother to wake up. He didn't mind as much; his streak of no absences was already ruined, so there wasn't a point in trying to work it back up (besides, Fall Break was next week).

His gaze turned to the side to view the cracks that had slowed in growth, though they were still large.

Arthur swallowed and jerked his eyes away. He didn't even know anymore. One moment, the glass was alright and almost healed; the next moment, it cracked and broken.

Maybe it was connected to Eames' voice? Arthur did notice the cracks in the other's words each time there was a crack in the mirror, issuing the fact that the mirror was slowly breaking again.

He scowled and ran a hand through his hair. Again, he was pounded with the amount of stress.

If only he hadn't thrown the pencil holder**—** if only he didn't let his emotions take over and allow Lorenzo to get him. If only he hadn't found a liking to Dom.

Arthur closed his eyes and exhaled. It was this feeling again; the feeling of regret for starting a domino effect and blaming everyone along the way, when in actuality, it was his fault. Arthur could accept that it was his fault now, but he didn't want to think about it.

His eyes opened to the sight of the ceiling and sunlight. By looks of it, it was nearing the time for lunch. His stomach confirmed this with a rumble a few moments later.

Waving the previous thoughts off, the young teen sat up in bed. His head was throbbing a bit, but he paid that no attention.

As usual, he went for a very quick shower, and when he returned, he peered at the mirror.

No Eames. Still cracks.

Had he dreamed up Eames healing? His brows furrowed at that idea. He didn't think he was sleeping before he retired to bed at four in the morning.

But now wasn't the time to consider such; he had food to eat before he passed out from starvation.

Even though he was hungry, the moment Arthur stepped down from the stairwell and saw his father at the kitchen table, he wanted to go right back upstairs. But since his father lifted his head and acknowledged him, there wasn't an escape unless he _really_ did want to get beaten, so he kept his head down and traveled to the fridge.

From there, he removed a bright red apple. After washing it, he made a quick getaway to the stairs, but unfortunately, he didn't get far.

"Arthur, a word." The voice sent chills down his spine. Having a word with his father without anyone else around was the last thing he wanted to go through, but he wasn't one to disobey. After all, he tried that yesterday and ended up being thrown into the wall.

And where the hell is his mother? Probably avoiding this.

Reluctantly, he turned to face his father. "I think we've talked enough," he responded icily.

Immediately, he could tell his father was about to start correcting him, but instead, his father took the calm way. "I think we haven't. Take a seat."

Arthur didn't want to, but the glare that was sent in his direction urged him to seat himself at the kitchen table. And so he did, at the farthest chair from his father and the closest to an escape route.

He leaned back and eyed his father with much caution.

His father began seconds later without much of a new look thrown his way. "I want to apologize for my crude behavior." Arthur had to hold himself from rolling his eyes. "But first, you need to apologize for your behavior. You know this is not how you act."

Arthur's jaw clenched. "I'm sorry," he replied stiffly.

"I'm sorry?" His father echoed.

Arthur tried again. "I apologize for my behavior, father."

"And I apologize for my actions. Now," his father folded up his newspaper and set it aside, "I want to talk to you about your preference for men."

Arthur stood up abruptly, not wanting to go through with this conversation again. His father wasn't giving him a choice. "Sit down."

And so he sat, but stubbornly.

"Are you positive? This could all be a phase ... you're not at least bisexual?"

The corner of Arthur's mouth twitched with much irritation. "No."

"Bi-curious, then?" His father was obviously not getting it.

"Homoflexible."

His father stared at him. "Pardon?"

"Homoflexible," Arthur repeated. He didn't want to lie completely, but he also wanted to tell the truth. Yes, he found some women attractive, but the thought of kissing or being intimate with them made him cringe.

"What is that supposed to mean?" his father questioned, lips tight.

"It's in the dictionary."

"I do not appreciate your attitude, Arthur. I raised you to this age. Pay me respect."

Arthur crossed his arms over his chest but remained wordless.

"I'll take it to meaning that you do consider women a part of your portion. Like I stated before, the one that came here is a lovely**—**"

"She's taken by someone else," Arthur said coldly.

His father frowned. "I'm sure there are plenty others that are worth your time."

"What are you trying to say?"

"I want you to date a female. I'm allowing you to so that you can feel what I felt when I met both of your mothers."

Again, Arthur stood. "I believe I am of age to make my own decisions, thank you."

Before his father could give him another word, Arthur grabbed his apple and retreated to his bedroom. There, behind locked doors, he feasted on his breakfast. Halfway through his apple, Eames appeared.

The Englishman didn't look horrible, like he did before when the mirror first broke, but he didn't look too well either.

"Another row with your father?" he questioned.

Arthur didn't answer and completely tried to ignore Eames.

"Don't let him get to you. You're old enough to make the decisions you want." Arthur knew that much. "And like I said last night, you can't help who you fall for."

The dark brunet lifted his head to gaze at the man in the mirror. Eames' eyes were soft, but not a tint of a smile was on his lips.

"I couldn't help but fall for you." The sentence was whispered, and Arthur could barely hear it, but the sight of a very small, and somewhat sad, smile was enough to give him ideas.

"He doesn't understand," Arthur replied, his words quipped.

"He's your father**—**"

"**—**that's willing to kick me out of the house."

"He won't."

"You don't know him as much as I do. I know he will."

Eames fell silent. Arthur sighed and used that moment to stand up. After discarding the apple and washing his hands, he returned to the front of the mirror and sat.

"Are you ... willing to be kicked out?" the Englishman questioned, somewhat nervously.

Arthur picked with the tails of his shirt. "No, but he will if I act up."

His chocolate brown eyes took in the oceanic ones. He knew what Eames was thinking; if Arthur was to be kicked out, then he wouldn't see Eames again. And vice versa on that.

"I won't be able to see you, then," the light brunet responded softly.

Arthur pressed his back against the side of the bed. He didn't know what to say, and from the sounds of it, Eames didn't either. So for next few moments, they stared at each other, searching for something again. It was only when he heard his father's voice booming did he was pulled away from trance and listened in.

"Our son won't even consider dating a women!" Joy; his mother was up. His father must be filling her in on everything now."No, you don't understand. He needs to see a therapist."

Arthur glanced back at Eames, whose face was darkened. "Don't listen to him."

"A therapist," Arthur repeated, fists clenching. "He thinks I'm a freak."

"No, Arthur. You're perfect."

Arthur tilted his head back and blinked back the tears that threatened him with each passing second.

"You are the most amazing person I've ever met. You and Mal**—** but you're perfect, darling."

The student sniffed and blinked various of times. "I know," he managed out.

"**—**queer! That was probably why he was suspended!"

"I hate him," Arthur murmured, resting his chin on his arms that were resting on his propped up knees.

"I hate how he treats you," Eames pitched in.

Arthur closed his eyes and bit his lip to refrain from them trembling.

"Don't let him get in the way of what or who makes you happy."

Arthur nodded slightly, understanding**—** or trying to understand.

— **ox — xo —**

It didn't get better as the day progressed. Arthur was trying to avoid the talk at lunch, but he didn't have luck on his side. He listened to his father drone on and on about women and their qualities.

"They make you sandwiches." Arthur snorted at that, and his mother actually laughed, but his father was deadpan serious.

By time he finished the food, he returned to his room. Only then did he receive a few texts from those at school. They were all making sure he was okay or asking where he was.

Arthur chose to reply to Ariadne's text with _'fine; at home' _and left it at that.

— **ox — xo —**

Dinner was it. Arthur couldn't stand being in the same house as his father. He wanted to grab his keys and run away, but him having car keys was supposed to be a secret. And also, he didn't want to leave everything behind. He cherished the things within his room. But he couldn't take it anymore.

He slammed the door closed, locking it safely behind him. The noise brought attention to both Eames and his father.

"Do not slam your door!" came from his father, and on the other side, "are you alright?" came from Eames.

Obviously, he wasn't alright. Tears streaked his face, all in which he tried to hide by wiping them away. He wasn't about to show signs of weakness. He was still strong. He _was_ strong. He could get through this. He could**—** "I'm leaving."

He wasn't that strong.

Grabbing a duffle bag that usually stored his swimming trunks, he unzipped it and dumped all the unneeded belongings out.

"Arthur**—**" Eames called out. "Please, Arthur**—**"

Arthur couldn't even see properly. Blinded by tears, he began removing some of his clothing from the closet and stuffing then into the bag.

"I'm sorry, Eames. I'll come back for you. I**—**"

"You can't just leave!"

Arthur threw a glare in the Englishman's direction. "Watch me."

Turning back and ignoring Eames' protests, Arthur finished stuffing four of his button ups and five pair of pants in. Two t-shirts and a pair of sweatpants were then thrown in along with a handful of underwear.

"Think about this, Arthur, please**—**" He should really destroy Eames. End the suffering. But he couldn't bring himself to.

Instead, he ventured to the bathroom and drew out a shampoo bottle along with his toothbrush and toothpaste. He threw them into the bag as well before going through his closet again.

He was shaking. His mind wasn't in the right place. He was becoming careless.

A few ties and belts were thrown in. His cellphone went next. Then his car keys, which he ended up stuffing into his pockets. He proceeded to empty his backpack of unnecessary items and began filling that up with a few things.

When he finished packing, he heaved both bags on each shoulder. But as he went to the door, he heard a loud crack. He knew he should ignore it, just as he was ignoring Eames all this time, but he couldn't.

He dropped the bags and turned to face the mirror. It was severely broken, and the cracks were spreading rapidly. Eames was still visible, though.

Arthur ushered over. "Come with me," he whispered, touching the part of the mirror where Eames' tear-streaked cheek was. "Come with me, Eames," he repeated, hands shaking, eyes blurred once more with tears.

"Stay with me, Arthur."

"I-I can't. I want to leave. He doesn't understand**—**"

"Please, Arthur**—**"

"I need you, Eames." Arthur didn't know where that line came from; it just rolled off his tongue, but he found it to be true. He needed Eames. He wasn't brave enough to walk out alone. He needed someone, and Eames fit that role.

"I need you too, Arthur. I need you. I love you, dammit. Please don't leave me**—**"

"I ... just come with me."

"How?" Eames asked, leaning forward so that Arthur could clearly see the tears shining in the Englishman's eyes. "Tell me how, Arthur. I'll do it."

Nothing. Arthur didn't know what to say. He didn't know how. The mirror wasn't moveable. He didn't want to break the mirror. He needed to go, though. He couldn't bare another night here. But he couldn't leave Eames behind. He just couldn't.

"Kiss me," Eames whispered, placing a hand up on the other side of the broken glass. Arthur positioned his hand over the other's, squeezed his eyes shut, and leaned in.

His lips lingered on the cool surface for a second, and then, the surface turned warm. His hand, which was on the mirror, was taken by another.

His eyes flew open, and realization dawned on him.

He was kissing Eames, but not through a mirror; he was actually kissing Eames, and ... it felt wonderful. Closing his eyes again and allowing himself to melt into the kiss, his heart soared.

It was slow, rhythmic, lovely**—** their lips moved in sync, tasting each other, pressing, hot, needing, wanting**—**

He felt the hand encasing his remove itself, and he made a small noise of protest, but that hand, along with the other, trailed down and gripped his hip, backing him into the bed.

The kiss grew ferocious.

Arthur was bent back against the bed, his arms wrapped around Eames' figure. The opposing male pressed into him, teeth meeting his own, tongue snaking in. Hands traveled, touching, sliding. And then those hands lifted him onto the bed without breaking the heated kiss. A second later, additional weight was added onto the bed. Arthur was gently pushed back as their lips disconnected.

His eyes opened, but Eames had already trailed his mouth to Arthur's neck where he continued to kiss and suck. Arthur made a noise of pleasure, arching against the other.

At then, the Englishman pulled away with a soft chuckle. Arthur peered up, blinking the tears away to get a clear look at Eames, who was hovering above him.

"You're bloody gorgeous," Eames mumbled, touching Arthur cheek with much tenderness. "I waited so long for this. God, Arthur." Eames nearly knocked the breath out of him again as he wrapped his arms around him, pulling him into an embrace. "I love you."

Arthur closed his eyes at the sound of that. For a few moment, he listened to their breathing. It was only when Eames' weight on him was noted did he give a friendly shove.

"Can't breathe," he murmured out.

Eames laughed and drew back. "I just take your breath away, don't I, darling?"

Their eyes met again, and Arthur broke into a smile. "Take it away, again?"

Eames grinned. "With pleasure."

Given that as the warning, Eames' lips descended onto Arthur's, sealing their silent words in a meaningful kiss. It returned to a slow rate**—** one where Arthur tried to feel every bit of Eames' lips. On the other hand, Eames' fingers danced down his sides and trailed along his waistline. And then**—** the door was forced open.

Eames immediately jerked away, and Arthur pulled himself up quickly.

His father was staring, wide eyed, with one hand in the knob. His mother was behind him, gaping.

For a second, silence echoed through the room. Arthur would have said "it's not what it looked like", but that was a lie, and everyone knew it.

His father was first to talk after a bit. "You have thirty seconds to pack and get the hell out of my house."

Arthur stiffened.

He was kicked out.

Shit.

Eames' fingers inched towards his and eventually grabbed his hand. Arthur instantly felt better and stronger.

Clutching the hand back, he got out of the bed, Eames tailing his actions.

His mother turned and walked away, but Arthur could really care less. He was focused on his father. Their glares lingered no more than a few seconds before Arthur walked over and picked up his duffle bag. Eames helped with the other.

He had nothing to say, so he passed his father. Eames lingered a bit, though, glaring at the older man before shooting him the middle finger. Arthur had to jerk Eames into moving after that so his father wouldn't attack.

They made it downstairs, hands still laced within each other's. After he successfully unlocked the door, he heard his mother's voice calling out to him. "Wait." He didn't want to wait, but he eventually did.

Arthur turned in her direction just in time to catch sight of an envelope shoved into his hands.

"That should be two thousand," she whispered urgently.

He stared at the envelope, then switched his gaze to her. He was wordless, but thankfully, Eames piped up. "Thank you."

Arthur was then tugged out of the house as he watched his mother smile sadly and close the door, symbolizing that he was no longer welcomed in there.

And that was it.


	12. Chapter 12

**Warning;** alternate universe, supernatural, teen! Arthur, notreallysortakinda angst?

**Disclaimer;** when Arthur doesn't want specificity.

**Author's Notes;** I can't even— asdfghjkl— all your reviews were the best birthday present ever! Thank you all ... good God, all sixteen of you! :D Anyways, aside from that. I'm not sure what a waiter does completely aside from the things I learned when I was child and normal inspections. Correct me if I'm wrong.

* * *

Arthur was still experiencing shock, even though a good five minutes had passed, and he had only driven down the road and parked a street over. It was nearing night, but Arthur could really care less. His forehead was planted on the steering wheel, his foot off the gas pedal, but the engines continued to run. He breathed in and out, allowing oxygen to cycle through and let him relax. It didn't help much, but Eames, sitting in the passenger side, massaging his back, gave him a sense of relaxation.

He was thankful to the fact that he had gotten Eames out of the mirror and dragged him along, but he just wasn't as happy about it like he should be. It was clearly because he had just been kicked out that made his mood foul. But that was what his father wanted; Arthur was determined to prove him wrong and rub it in his face years later— He would become someone famous and accepting, and his father would end up working for him. Or something.

But Arthur couldn't think that cruel of his father. He just wished illness or something along those lines upon the older man, but that was it.

For now, he didn't even want to think about his father. He had school to consider, but most importantly, where the hell he and Eames were going to stay for the time being until Arthur could find a job and afford an apartment.

He let out another deep breath and sat up, rubbing his forehead a bit. Eames' hand removed from his back to cup his chin.

"You okay?" the Englishman questioned.

Arthur couldn't meet the light brunet's gaze, so he simply nodded slightly. "Fine," he mustered.

Eames didn't seemed a lot satisfied with the answer since he turned Arthur to face him. Arthur tried to avoid looking, but in the end, he gave in and glanced up to see the other's face. Eames wasn't smiling; his expressions weren't warm, either. Arthur wasn't sure what it was, but it didn't matter once Eames leaned over and kissed his lips softly.

Their mouth's lingered after one movement against each other. Arthur breathed, his eyes half-lidded, lips stick stuck on Eames'. He couldn't find the muse to kiss back, so he drew away and looked at the road.

"We need to find shelter," he stated.

Beside him, Eames shifted back to his original position. "Mal's?"

Arthur considered, then decided to along with it. "Yeah, Mal would do." Drawing out his cellphone, he dialed her number and placed it against his ear. He was impatient when hearing the familiar _driiing driiing_; he was also still shaken, so that didn't help much either.

Luckily, he had Eames.

"We'll be fine," the Englishman murmured, thumbing the stray tear that dared escape the corner of Arthur's eye. "We're getting through this together."

The young student nodded jerkily, trying to comprehend the words, but how could he? Eames didn't understand; his parents didn't kick him out of the house.

But at least he was trying to help. That alone made Arthur feel a bit better— he should be glad that he wasn't by himself.

"Hello?"

_Finally_, Mal picked up.

Arthur opened his mouth to explain, but there were so many words rushing through his mind. What should he tell her first? The good news or the bad news? Should he even be asking her for a place to stay? She looked intimidating on a normal basis when she wasn't smiling— but she was the only one that understood why he was dragging Eames along everywhere. She was the only help he could get.

"It's Arthur," he started, noting that his voice was still shaken a bit. He cleared his throat and tried again. "I'm in a bit of a situation, and I ... need a favor."

"I'm all ears."

He hesitated and glanced in Eames' direction. The light brunet gave him a very small, encouraging smile. Arthur resumed talking.

"I got Eames out of the mirror."

"Wha—"

"And I was caught ... in a position with him that my father disapproved of, so at the moment, I'm— we're homeless."

Mal fell silent for a bit before requesting a word with Eames. Somewhat glad but reluctant, Arthur handed the phone to the Englishman. For the next ten minutes, he watched and listened as Eames greeted and had a conversation including many chuckles and smiles. Here, Arthur was sitting, hands gripped on the steering wheel, waiting for an answer, and Eames was being completely inconsiderate. They needed to get out of the road before the sun set, and Eames was laughing at something Mal said.

Arthur threw the man a glare, issuing him to hurry up and give him an answer. Eames caught his gaze a few seconds later and finally asked Mal if it was okay to say. By the looks of his grin, she said yes.

"She said yes," Eames reported, beaming at him.

Arthur felt a flutter in his stomach at the crooked smile, but made nothing of it. "Ask her what her address is."

After the address was recited to him, Arthur put the car into drive and drove his way to said house.

Mal greeted them as if they had just returned home from a long trip. She ushered them in and introduced them to her father, who also had a warm welcome. They were then taken to the guest room, where Eames claimed that he'll take the armchair and Arthur could have the bed. Though Arthur wanted to argue, he didn't. He simply set his bags down and seated himself on the edge of the bed.

Not too far away, Mal threw her arms around Eames, and the other embraced her back. They spoke to each other in hushed whispers that Arthur hear. Not that he cared; he had other things to dwell over than the fact that Eames and Mal were reuniting as best friends.

He climbed towards the center of the bed and plopped down. Eyes then turned to the ceiling. He couldn't believe his fortune and misfortune; he was kicked out, but got Eames out of the mirror. He should be bursting with glee at the moment, but he didn't have the energy to do anything like that. So he laid there, thinking.

Was it worth it? He just threw his entire future away. His chance of being successful was cut in half, if not more. His father probably had the thought to disown him, making it so that he wasn't Arthur Irvings anymore. He was just Arthur— there was no identity.

He rolled to his side and closed his eyes. It wasn't worth it. He could have finished high school, university, and found a job. Now, he was living off with two thousand dollars and in someone else's house. Not to mention, Eames was with him as well. He doubt that Mal or Mal's father would be happy if they stuck around for a long time. He would need to find a suitable apartment and a job. He—

"Eames." It wasn't a greeting but more of a surprised comment when he felt a hand on his shoulder and the bed shifting.

"You're thinking too much, darling."

He felt an arm drape across his waist.

Arthur heaved a sigh and allowed the Englishman to spoon him.

"I need to find a job," the young teen murmured.

"I'll work too," Eames mumbled against his back. "We'll pull through this, love."

Arthur exhaled shakily before twisting his head to peer over his shoulder at the other. The sight of Eames brought a soft smile to his lips.

Eames brushed his fingers against the student's cheek before tilting it up slightly. Arthur's eyes fluttered close as lips were descended onto his own.

It still felt amazing to kiss Eames even though he knew better. He should be mad at Eames. The other was the sole reason why he got kicked out, or at least, that's what Arthur thought. But at the moment, he didn't care. He shifted to his back and kissed with much eagerness.

The kiss ended too quickly, though, when Eames pulled away and sat up. Arthur only shifted slightly to look at Mal, who had entered without knocking (their door was opened).

"Are you two hungry?"

Eames patted his stomach and grinned. "Food would be lovely."

Mal nodded and dismissed herself from the room, but only after giving them a pointed look.

"Speaking of which, I need to take a piss." Winking at Arthur, Eames slid off the mattress and stepped into the bathroom.

Arthur tried not to look, because Eames didn't completely close the bathroom door, but he gave into his temptation and tried to get a peek by leaning to the side slightly. He saw nothing, but didn't want to press it.

Shifting back, he waited for the other to finish.

Eames dismissed himself from the bathroom ten seconds later. "Peeking is against the law," came the English drawl as the older man came closer and leaned over.

The temperature began to rise in Arthur's cheeks. "I was not peeking."

Eames chuckled softly and ran a hand down Arthur's chest before fisting the fabric. "Don't worry, darling, I don't mind." These words were murmured against the student's lips.

Something flared within Arthur— it was a hot feeling around his stomach, matching with his pounding heart.

And then Eames pulled away, smirking slightly.

"Tease," Arthur huffed, reaching out and grabbing Eames' collar. He dragged the Englishman closer to him and brushed their lips against each other once more.

"I know," the other mumbled, grinning before pressing into the touch.

Arthur found himself smiling as he kissed back. His lips slid against the opposing one's, his tongue shyly touching Eames' own. He never had kissing lessons before, nor had he watched the action— but it came easily to him.

Arthur's hands slid from Eames' shirt to his shoulder, pulling him closer. Eames pressed against him, pushing him onto the bed so that he could clamber on top. Their kiss never broke, but instead, grew needy. Hands roamed. Breaths came in gasps. Arthur slipped his fingers down Eames' back, untucking the shirt. On the other hand, the Englishman was busy unbuttoning Arthur's shirt.

When the cold digits met his hot skin, Arthur pulled away from the kiss with a soft gasp. Eames' fingers were far too cold, but he adapted quickly. Trembling under the touch, he leaned up and captured Eames' mouth once more. His heart continued to soar as the kiss was returned. It wasn't before long that Eames' hand trailed down his body and traced the waistline on his pants by hooking his fingers in and taunting him.

And then, it all stopped.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" the Englishman questioned a breath away.

Arthur gazed up to the startling oceanic eyes. "You would have been dead if I didn't want this."

Eames' lips stretched into a wide smile. "Is that a challenge?"

Arthur scowled and groped Eames through his pants. Eames' breath hitched.

"Touch me," Arthur demanded, drawing his hand away.

Eames pecked him on the lips. "Where?"

"You know where," the dark brunet responded, sniffing.

"Do I?" Eames' hand fell to his hip. "Here?"

Arthur shook his head. "Lower."

"Mm," hummed the other. "Lower as you command." Eames slipped his hand to the waist band.

"Lower."

Eames' hand landed on his knee.

Arthur, frustrated, grabbed the Englishman's hand and placed it over his crotch. "It's not hard to miss," Arthur hissed.

Eames fondled him lightly. "Patience, my love."

The younger of the two sneered faintly and bucked into the hand. "Hormones don't have patience."

"But you have control, no?" Eames met his eyes and smirked.

"Eames!" Arthur scowled. "If you don't—"

The rest of his words were cut off when a hand dipped into his pants and cupped him through his briefs.

Fucking tease.

"I will—"

"You will what?" Eames asked, fingering the fabric separating him from Arthur's skin.

"I'll—"

"Get your hands off him this instant!"

Arthur jumped a bit when Mal's voice echoed from the doorway. Eames, in response, slowly drew away from him.

"They invented knocking for a reason, dear."

She glared at them— or Eames, specifically. "They call it being courteous of the people who took you in."

Eames stood up and fixed himself. Arthur sat up and buttoned his shirt, his face flushed red.

"Well, thank you for that, darling. But you should have known what would happen with two horny men in one room and bed."

Arthur kicked the other, and Mal laughed. "Point given, Eames. I should just give you the couch in the living room."

"I'm perfectly content with the armchair in this room, thank you."

Arthur coughed and slid out of bed to finish smoothing out his clothes. "Which gives you a reason to watch me sleep." His gaze met the other's. "It's creepy."

Eames smiled easily at him. "But you're gorgeous—"

"It's creepy," Arthur repeated earnestly.

Eames narrowed his eyes a bit. "Fine, fine." Turning to Mal, Eames gestured at the air. "Mind you, but I'm starving."

"Dad's making dinner right now," she responded, switching her gaze from Eames to Arthur. "Don't mess around," she warned, narrowing her eyes at him before turning and disappearing around the corner.

Arthur continued to flush a delicate shade of red, but that only made Eames more tempted to slide his hand on Arthur's waist lower. Of course, though, the student swatted it away. Eames held both hands up in the air in surrender. "Hey, hey. You started it," he accused.

Arthur huffed. "You touched me first."

"You told me to—"

"After you began it."

Eames met his eyes and smirked. "But you liked it, no?"

Arthur didn't want to answer, so he simply turned away and took his attention to his belongings on the floor.

"We also need to get you some clothes," the dark brunet stated, glancing over his shoulder for a second. "Something less hideous."

Eames snorted and walked up beside him. "Your disapproval wounds me, darling."

Arthur gave him a look before drawing out a t-shirt. "Here. Try this." He handed the black shirt over.

Eames grabbed and held it up, then proceeded to strip himself from his current shirt.

Arthur found himself staring at the tone chest. When caught, he noticed the smirk on the other's lips before the t-shirt was slipped on.

"Mm, tight," Eames commented, standing up and flexing.

Arthur blinked.

The shirt was fitted perfectly with Eames' figure, clinging desperately to the muscles and chest area.

"But it'll do." He then took off the shirt and handed back to Arthur. This left him without a shirt, which made Arthur stare again.

Eames was definitely built. And just by looking at the man, his mouth began to water. But of course, he tried to keep himself from lunging forward.

So instead, Arthur searched his duffle bag again and drew out sweatpants. When he handed them over, he gave cautious instructions. "Try them on in the bathroom."

He knew that Eames knew why he had requested it, but Eames, being Eames, asked anyways. "Why should I? We're both guys." Another wink was thrown in his direction before the Englishman dropped his pants.

That bastard.

The sweatpants also seemed to hug the other's bottom half, but it fit. That was all that mattered for tonight.

"Is it uncomfortable?" he questioned, eyes scrolling up the body to the blue-green hues.

"Well, a bit. I use to sleep naked, see, but these are fine."

Arthur tried to shove the thought of a naked Eames sprawled out, sleeping on the mattress out of his head, but he found it hard since the other was simply joyous in removing his clothing and flaunting his body.

"Go take a shower," the young teen ordered, shoving the t-shirt and sweatpants into Eames' grasp.

"Will you be joining me, pet? We'll be saving gallons of water by showering together."

Arthur threw his shampoo bottle at the opposing male while desperately trying to calm the blush in his cheeks. "No."

Eames stuck out his bottom lip and pouted. Arthur willed himself not to fall for such. He merely glared at the other until the Britishman surrendered and headed off to the showers.

For the time in which Eames was taking the shower, the young male found the envelope that his mother gave to him. As he peered in, he came to account that there was two thousand in there and a note that read '_take care of yourself for a day or two_.' He ripped up the piece of paper and tossed it into the trash can.

Ten minutes later, Mal peeked in. "Dinner's ready," she announced.

"Eames' in the shower," Arthur responded, nodding at the full bath connected to the guest room.

"How long has he been in there?"

"Thirty minutes, maybe." He shrugged slightly and got to his feet. "Do you need help with anything?" he asked, wanting at least to help with something so he didn't feel as guilty.

She shook her head and smiled. "Not that I can think of."

He nodded slightly. "I ... thank you for letting us stay at the last moment. I didn't know who else to call with Eames tagging along." Arthur seated himself on the edge of the bed. "I was ... shocked and afraid. I didn't know— I need to find a job, and buy—"

"Arthur," Mal started, sitting beside him and placing a hand on his shoulder. "I understand that it's traumatizing. And I'm happy to help. As for a job, I'm sure Dom has a waiter position open at his father's restaurant. I'll take you there tomorrow if you want."

He managed to smile a bit in her direction. "Thanks, Mal. I appreciate your existence."

While the brunette burst out laughing, Arthur grinned. When she finished laughing, she patted his shoulder, then drew her hand away.

"I'm heading off to see family this Monday, though."

The news hit him hard.

Arthur quickly became nervous once more. If Mal wasn't around, where would he find somewhere to live?

His eyes downcast.

"We'll be back on Friday. I'll try to set you up a place. Maybe Ari's— or a hotel room."

Arthur ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "It's alright, Mal. You've done plenty. I'll just get a room for three nights— or an apartment, if I can manage to get my hands on one."

"Don't sound hopeless." She jerked his chin in her direction so that he was facing her. "Listen to me, Arthur. You're going to get through this, and we will help you along the way. That's what friends do." She then let go of his cheek and embraced him. "I'm sorry," she mumbled.

Arthur felt the tears threatening his sights once more. He hugged back, burying his face in her shoulder.

But of course, their moment was disturbed by Eames, who decided to make a big show out of venturing out of the bathroom by announcing his arrival via addressing Mal.

"Are you trying to convert him into heterosexuality?" Eames demanded, nearing them both as they pulled away.

Arthur gave the other a pointed look while Mal smirked.

"Is it working?"

Arthur glanced over at the female. "Not exactly."

She laughed at that. "I'm not sure if I should call that a good or bad thing. But come on, the food's getting cold."

"I already ate," Arthur responded, getting back on his feet. "I need to take a shower."

"Are you sure? We have steak."

Arthur gave a firm nod.

"Alright, then. Leftovers are in the microwave if you feel hungry." Mal then left, leaving Eames back to stare Arthur.

The dark brunet blinked. "What?"

Eames broke into one of his smiles that made Arthur weak in the knees. "I love your hair messy." At the sound of the compliment, or sarcasm, in Arthur's case, the young teen quickly flattened his hair. Eames chuckled and leaned over to peck his cheek. "Come, darling, won't you join me for dinner?"

"I need a shower first."

Eames looked somewhat disappointed, but in the end, he nodded and they departed.

Arthur found himself in the shower moments later, warm water pouring down his back. His eyes were closed as he ran both hands through his wet locks while tilting his head back so that his lips would touch the pouring water. He's reminded of Eames' fluttered touches and kisses, and he shuddered.

The way Eames made him feel was odd— it was the feeling he had with Dom, but something more. He didn't have these feelings at first, which made him wonder if it was possible to develop said emotions within a few weeks. He wasn't entirely sure— he didn't even know if he ... liked Eames in that manner. He loved the touches, the kisses, the warming words, but did he like the Englishman? Did he want I try at a relationship? That question went unanswered as he drew himself from the shower and dressed into his other pair of shirt and sweatpants.

As he exited, the bedroom was vacant. Arthur considered staying, but at the last moment, he decided it was more polite to face the man of the house.

Mal's father, who insisted for Arthur to call him Ray (short for Raymond), greeted him by giving him a nod. Arthur thought the actions of this man and his so-called father were similar, but he kept his mouth sealed. He just hoped that Ray wasn't like his father.

Eames, who was nothing like either of them, was sitting beside him, scarfing down food as if he hadn't eaten in, well, six or seven years.

As Arthur sat in the seat opposite of Ray, he was offered food, but declined with a small thankful smile.

Eames pushed a fork with a piece of steak in his direction, but the young teen shook his head. The steak ended up in the Englishman's mouth seconds later.

There wasn't much conversation at the table; Mal approached the topic about them needing a job, and Ray piped up about Dom's restaurant, Ari's cafe, or maybe an assistant at the local library. Arthur liked the idea of working at the library, but he doubt Eames could hold his peace and stay quiet for a couple of hours.

On the other hand, Yusuf worked at Ariadne's cafe. But Arthur knew he couldn't keep Eames and Yusuf away; they, sooner or later, would meet since this was a small town, after all.

Working with Dom wasn't a bad idea. He actually much preferred it.

He didn't have much time to consider, though, since the other three finished with the table, and he offered to clean the dishes. He was turned down and chased to the guest room with Eames by his side to get ready for bed.

Arthur couldn't deny that he was sleepy, though. He needed to catch up on the sleep he had lost while pulling one or two all nighters. Eames wasn't making it easier for him, though. The other, even though the lights were off and they were both in their respective resting spot, was trying to get his attention by making little noises.

Frustrated at last, Arthur turned to the opposing figure. "What?"

From the stream of moonlight through the partly closed blinds, he could make out Eames grinning at him.

"Can I sleep in the bed with you? I'll fall asleep much faster."

Arthur's brows furrowed. "You can have the bed, and I'll take the armchair—"

"You misheard, love."

"The answer is no."

"Come on, Arthur. It's cold in this corner and there's a mirror I can see in the bathroom."

"Go to sleep, Eames," Arthur stressed before rolling back over to face the other side. He closed his eyes in attempt to go to sleep.

Luck wasn't on his side. Minutes later, his ears perked to the sound of footsteps, and before he could say anything, another weight was added onto the mattress.

"Eames," Arthur hissed, sitting up and watching Eames get under the covers.

"Oh, come, pet. You know I can't stay away."

"You were a few meters away in the arm—"

"I like it here better."

Arthur pushed the covers off himself. "Then I'm taking the armchair."

Eames immediately grabbed his arm. "Arthur," he said, eyes staring, expression not showing his goofy side anymore. The serious look given made Arthur succumb. He pulled the covers back and cautiously laid down.

Eames smiled and laid a hand over Arthur's stomach, pulling him in.

"I am not cuddling," the student stated.

Eames merely chuckled and trailed the hand to Arthur's cheek. "Go to sleep, darling," he murmured before drawing his fingers away.

Arthur honestly tried to sleep, but it was hard to with Eames only a few inches away.

His thoughts ran mercilessly about the day's event. The idea of his father made him sick in the stomach. Again, he quickly became foul at that single thought. He understood that his father was strict and business, much like himself at first, but kicking him out of the house— now his father wouldn't have someone to pass on the name and such. Not that Arthur could pass on the name if he weren't kicked out, anyways. But still, he was kicked out for a reason that was absolutely ridiculous. His father was just that cold-hearted.

His mother, on the hand, was stupid, and Arthur could say that bluntly. She was the sole reason why his father found out, so technically it was her fault. He only pushed the limit by being caught with Eames.

That was stupid of him as well. He knew that his father was angry at him; he also knew that it was possible for his father to break into his room, but he ended up on the bed with Eames anyways. He couldn't help it at the time, though. He was desperate to get Eames out, then the returned kiss caught him off guard and led to them making out.

Arthur exhaled slowly and batted the thought away. He was thinking far too much if he wanted to sleep. But unfortunately, sleep wasn't given to him. Eames, at one point, laid a hand over his waist and drew closer so that Arthur could feel the Englishman's light breathing on his back.

"Are you alright?" Eames murmured.

"Yeah," Arthur croaked.

Eames sighed and backed away so that he could turn Arthur around. Once on his back, the young teen's eyes opened and glanced to his left.

"I'm fine," he assured.

"You can talk to me," Eames responded, eyes searching Arthur's own. "I'll always be here for you, Arthur."

The student turned to his side so that he wasn't facing Eames anymore.

"Go to sleep," he repeated.

For a few seconds, Arthur thought that Eames had complied, but that wasn't so. Eames touched his shoulder, then slid his hand down to grasp Arthur's.

"If it's bothering you, it helps to talk it out. You always did when I was in the mirror. What's the difference?"

The fingers strung into his loosely.

Arthur turned to his other side in order to face Eames. "My father," he began rather hesitantly, "is an asshole."

"And a bastard."

"That too."

"You don't need someone like you in your life."

Eames was close enough so that their conversations were in whispers.

"I know. It's just ... he's my biological father—"

"It doesn't matter. If he makes you upset and kicked you out, then that's not a father."

Arthur huffed and began to turn back, but Eames grabbed his arm with his other hand, locking him in place.

"I don't want to go back, Arthur."

"We're not going back."

"I don't want you trying to communicate with him either, unless he apologizes first. I don't like him, if you haven't noticed."

"I've noticed, but whether or not I communicate with him is my business."

Eames frowned slightly. "I don't want you to be hurt."

"I'm seventeen," Arthur mumbled.

"It doesn't matter how old you are. I care about you."

Arthur sighed and closed his eyes. "I just want to forget."

Eames shifted closer. "Think about me, then."

When Arthur opened his eyes, he was staring straight into Eames' eyes.

"I don't know how I feel about you. It's all confusing."

Eames' orbs were searching his, and Arthur wasn't sure what he would find.

"I know exactly how I feel about you," came the answer seconds later. "I've never felt this strong for someone— this protective, this caring."

Arthur became nervous once more.

Eames continued. "I want the best for you, Arthur. You're my everything, now."

Arthur closed his eyes and ducked his head slightly. He didn't know what to say. He was never that good at expression emotions, especially if he had no clue about them.

The subject bothered him. Relationships or anything related to partnership didn't strike him as an easy talk.

And Eames wasn't helping by whispering more words. "I always thought of this— finally being able to hold you."

The sappiness was really getting Arthur. He crinkled his nose a bit. "Please stop," he requested.

"Talking?"

"Yes, stop talking."

There was a low hum in response, then the final, or hopefully final, words were spoken. "G'night."

"Good night."

Eames shifted closer, arms around the young figure, before stilling. Arthur, this time, found himself insane with the need of sleep. He shortly fell into a deep slumber.

— **ox — xo —**

By noon, Arthur was already dressed and ready to head over to the restaurant Dom's family owned. It was only then did Eames rise from bed and kissed him good morning (which was actually afternoon). While Eames got ready and stuffed food into his mouth, Arthur shared a look with Mal.

It was nearly one when they left the house and piled into Mal's car.

"So, who's place are we going to again?" Eames questioned, leaning forward in between Arthur and Mal.

"Paliroma," Mal answered, turning into the place.

"Sounds Italian," the Englishman commented before sliding out of the car.

Arthur pushed his car door open and got out.

"It's variety," Mal informed, smiling at them both before entering and gesturing them to follow.

Arthur tailed her in and glanced around. The restaurant wasn't one of the super fancy sorts, but it was big and the decorations looked nice. He shifted over as Mal greeted the greeter in return. After the simple how are you doings and fines, she requested for Dom. They were then taken to the side in order to clear the entrance way.

It wasn't long before Dom stepped out and kissed Mal hello. When he turned to Arthur and smiled, Arthur found his frown fading and his heart picking up pace. He smiled back. Beside him, Eames didn't seem all that friendly. He stiffened and lightly placed an arm around Arthur's waist, pulling the dark brunet closer to him by a few inches.

Dom blinked at the action for a moment before clasping his hands together and drawing his gaze back to Mal. "Father only has a waiter spot open," Arthur heard Dom murmur over.

Mal's brows drew together a bit. "I'm not sure if they're willing to be—" She cut off her own words and turned to Arthur. "How about it? The shift is five hours long and the pay's eight an hour."

Forty dollars a day, about three hundred a week. Which meant a little bit more than a thousand each month. That worked with him.

"Sounds good to me," Arthur responded, grinning.

The arm tightened around his waist.

"Fantastic! I'll have father know. Do you know anything about serving?"

Arthur glanced around. "Just what they usually do, right?"

"It's not as simple. When can you start?"

"Tomorrow, or today, if you prefer." He had nothing else to do, anyways.

"Tomorrow's best. I'll have to teach you the basics first. Are you busy now?"

Arthur shook his head and proceeded to brush Eames' arm away.

"Alright. Give me a moment to tell my parents. " Excusing himself, Dom left the circle.

Immediately after the blond was out of hearing, Eames turned to him. "I don't like him," he stated bluntly.

"You don't need to be around," Arthur replied.

Eames' face darkened, but he said nothing.

Mal, who listened in for the briefest moment, glanced between them before making her request. "A word, Eames." The light brunet met Arthur's gaze for another moment before being led aside by Mal.

This left Arthur alone, unsure of what to do. He awkwardly stood, peering around. Mal and Eames were standing to the side of the restaurant, Mal mumbling something to Eames. In response, the Englishman's lips pressed together. He wasn't all that happy, from what Arthur inspected. His gaze switched elsewhere to observe the waiters and waitresses about. They weren't anybody he recognized, but they all seem pretty friendly with their smiles. The atmosphere felt nice as well; this was a suitable place to work until he graduated and find a better job.

"Arthur!"

At the sound of his name, his attention snapped over to the blond athlete. "Yes?"

Dom beckoned him over. Arthur glanced over to where Mal and Eames stood, but seeing that they were in a hushed argument, he didn't bother. Turning back to Dom, he headed over.

"This is Ryan," the athlete introduced, presenting a redheaded male who smiled at him a bit. "He has the day shift, so you won't be seeing him often. But he's free to teach you a few things now." Patting his shoulder, Dom left the two alone.

Arthur took a good look at the opposing figure be was stuck with. Ryan appeared in be in his mid-twenties. His hair was a vibrant red; his eyes were a startling green. He stood a few inches taller than Arthur, but weight wise, they probably were the same. When he smiled, he flaunted braces, making Arthur think that he was in his late teens.

"Arthur, yeah?" he started, gesturing him to follow.

Arthur nodded.

"Alright, Artie." Good God, did everyone think that that was a suitable nickname for him?

"The night shift starts at four and ends at nine. The uniform is just a white button up and black slacks. What you're wearing right now." Ryan took him to an empty table.

"The guests go to the tables to themselves. You'll be taking over my area when I'm off from the day shift. Lucky you; you have four tables to take care of." The redhead gestured at the four tables around him.

"If a customer sits in your area, greet them, introduce yourself, and give them the menu. Make sure to smile. Ask for what drinks they want. Make sure to wait a minute more before you bring them their drinks so that they have time to look over the menu." Ryan then drew out a small notepad.

"You'll need a pocket notepad. You can use mine for tomorrow if you can't get one by then. Just make sure to give it to Dom after you're done with your shift, yeah?" The taller male smiled at him once more. "Am I going too fast?"

Arthur shook his head.

"Good," Ryan responded, clasping his hands together. "Moving on. When you return the drinks, ask them if they are ready to order. If not, give them five more minutes, but don't stand around waiting. Do something else. After they order, say you'll be back with the food _shortly_. When you serve them, don't mess up. Check up on them every fifteen minutes to make sure if they want refills or not. If they haven't asked for the check within an hour of arrival, just give it to them. They will pay up front. Thank them for coming as well. And don't forget to collect tip if they left you any." Ryan lowered his arms and turned back to the young student.

"For cleaning up, clear all the dishes from the table and bring them to the back. The dish cleaners would take care of the excess trash and whatnot. Wipe the table last, but make sure you wash the cloth first. That and the sink to wash them are located in the back. And that's basically it. If you need any more help, just ask a waiter or waitress, yeah?"

Arthur nodded, understanding.

"You got all that?"

Again, the dark brunet nodded.

Ryan patted his shoulder much like Dom did. "You're a quick learner. Chey took forever. She's a night shift too. Pretty chick. I'm sure you'll like her." Ryan winked at him before handing him a menu. "You might want to study that just in case the customers describe something to you."

Arthur took the menu and thumbed through the two pages. When he glanced back up, he managed a small smile. "Thanks."

"Not at all. I have to get back to work. See you tomorrow, yeah?"

"Tomorrow," Arthur agreed before Ryan gave him a smile and ushered to one of the occupied tables.

Tucking the menu under his arm, he returned to Mal and Eames. By now, the two were done bickering, but Eames still wasn't smiling. That bothered Arthur a bit, but he waved it off temporarily when Mal asked him if he was ready to go.

"Yeah, let's go."

As Mal said farewell to the workers, Arthur turned to Eames. "What's wrong with you?"

Eames turned and looked at him— well, it wasn't exactly looking; it was more like glaring. Arthur's mouth ran dry as he locked gazes with the cold eyes.

"Nothing," he replied briskly before ushering out of the restaurant and into Mal's car.

After saying farewell to the greeter, Arthur got into the car as well. Mal followed him a second later.

"Eames," she called out, somewhat in a warning tone.

The Englishman leaned forward. "You called?" he answered in a familiar drawl.

"Don't forget what I told you."

Eames flashed a grin. "Of course." He then slithered back to lean against the car seat.

Arthur quirked a brow, asking what they were talking about, but neither of them answered.

When arriving back in the guest room, Arthur closed the door behind them, shutting him and Eames in.

"What did Mal say?" he demanded.

Eames blinked at him. "Oh. Nothing." To prove his point, he beamed.

Arthur didn't trust the smile, though. Even if there was a smile, the oceanic eyes were cold. Arthur narrowed his eyes a bit. "Is it about Dom?"

The smile immediately dropped.

Arthur knew it.

"Dom won't make a move," the young brunet inquired.

"It's not him," Eames murmured, drawing close and cupping how face. "It's you."

Arthur frowned, and the other continued.

"Do you still fancy him?"

"No ... no." There was slight hesitation in his voice, and Eames seemed to have caught it.

The hands cupping his face slid away. "You're not convincing, Arthur." The tone bit him. Eames definitely wasn't pleased.

"It doesn't matter, Eames. He's straight."

The Englishman's lips curled into a slight sneer. "You don't understand."

"I understand perfectly."

Eames turned away and ran a hand through his hair. "You liked him once. You can like him again. And this time, it could be stronger."

"I'm not stupid, Eames."

"Love makes you do stupid things."

"I've realized."

Eames glanced at him. "What am I to you?" he whispered.

Arthur kept his mouth shut. Again, he didn't know what to say. When he continued to not respond, Eames let out a frustrated scowl.

"You still like him."

Arthur quickly came to his own defense. "I'm over him."

"So, it's just that you don't feel the same about me, hm?"

Arthur licked his lips and dropped his gaze.

"Dammit, Arthur. I'm just a toy to you. A getaway, am I?"

"No—" He closed his eyes and let out a breath. "I'm confused."

"About your sexuality?"

"No— about whether I like you ... or not."

"Fantastic." Sarcasm dripped out of that spat out word.

"Give me time. I'm trying to cope with everything, and you're making it harder for me."

"Am I?"

"Yes, you are."

"Well, you didn't have to bring me along. You could have left me behind. I much prefer it than have my heart broken, mended, then broken again."

"Eames!"

"I'm sorry that I'm selfish, Arthur. I can't help the jealousy. I want us to be together."

"You wanted me to be happy, and I'll be happy if you drop this subject." Arthur hissed, glaring.

Eames took out a breath. "Okay. Alright. Fine. We're done talking."

Without further ado, Eames passed him and strolled out of the bedroom.

— **ox — xo —**

Arthur felt rather lonely in bed alone that night. He found himself missing the Englishman's touch. He couldn't sleep either with Eames apparently angry at him for something that he thought wasn't wrong at all. He needed a job, and Dom's restaurant offered a good pay and night shift. It wasn't like he was there for any reason outside of doing the job and earning money.

Arthur sighed and kicked the covers of the body. He shoved the thought out of his head to the best of his ability, but five minutes later, he found himself on his feet and exploring the dark house. He wasn't entirely sure where Eames was sleeping, but he was near positive that it was on the couch. From the sound of the light snores, it seemed so.

Tiptoeing over, he peered down at the slumbering figure. In the moonlight, Eames appeared peaceful. And Arthur was going to be a bastard and destroy that peace.

Lacing his hand in Eames' own, he leaned down slightly. "Eames?" he called out softly.

The opposing male grunted, but opened his eyes anyways. "Arthur?" he mumbled.

Arthur tugged on the hand a bit. "Come back to bed."

Eames exhaled and closed his eyes. "`m tired," he groaned.

"I can't sleep," Arthur whispered in response.

The eyes reopened. Eames seemed to be drifting in and out of sleep before getting onto his feet and, with Arthur's help, ambling to the guest room.

Once in, Eames toppled onto the bed, making it so that Arthur had to adjust him into a vertical position. Once that was completed, the student climbed in next to him and pulled the covers over them.

Some sort of relief flushed over him as he rolled to his side and watched Eames' sleeping face. It was back to peacefulness.

But said peacefulness lasted only for two minutes, since Eames spoke.

"You're being creepy, darling."

Arthur smiled and buried his head in the other's man chest. Above him, Eames shifted and kissed his forehead before wrapping his arms around the fragile figure.

"`m sorry," came the apology five minutes after.

And Arthur fell asleep with a smile.

— **ox — xo —**

"How do I look?" Arthur questioned, stepping out of the bathroom dressed in the usual button up and slacks, which was now his uniform for his job.

Eames, sitting on the bed, smile faintly. "Positively ravishing."

Arthur stepped back into the mirror and checked himself out once more. His shirt was tucked in and his hair was slicked back— it was exactly the sort of appearance his father approved of. Arthur frowned at the returned subject, but quickly waved it off. He then dismissed himself from the bathroom.

"What time is it?" he called out as he put his tie on.

"3:30, sharp."

"Shit," Arthur mumbled, walking over and grabbing his car keys. "I'll see you in a few—"

"Oh, now. I'll be there too. I would get bored if I have to stay here alone for five hours."

Arthur gave the other a pointed look. "I don't think Dom would be happy if you took up one table for five hours."

"But—"

"I'll be back soon."

Eames sighed and stood up. "I can't be with you?"

"Not when I have work," Arthur answered sharply as the Englishman touched his cheek.

"Do I get a kiss?"

Arthur narrowed his gaze upon the other, but in the end, gave in, and pecked the light brunet's lips.

"I've had better kisses from you than that," Eames commented.

"I need to go," Arthur replied.

After giving the Englishman a soft smile, the young teen hastily made his way out of the house.

He arrived ten minutes before four, much to his relief. As he entered, he peered around. There weren't a lot of people, considering that it was Sunday. This made it easier to navigate to Ryan, who was finished with clearing a table.

"Hey," he greeted, watching as the other draw up.

The redhead glanced in his direction and beamed. "Sup, Artie? You're just in time. Here's my notepad."

Arthur accepted the small green notebook and flipped to a clean page.

"Any questions?"

He shook his head, like yesterday.

"Alright, good. Now, the waiters for night shift— that's Cheyenne. You'll really like her."

At the sight of the blond female, the corner of Arthur's mouth twitched. Though he didn't have much to do with her, she was still not someone he wanted to be around.

"That's Kendell, my lil' bro. He's a pain in the ass, though. Don't talk to him unless you want a three hour long conversation."

Arthur peered over at another redheaded waiter who seemed to be babbling away and making one table laugh.

"And the other is Adrian. He's a pretty cool guy. You should ask him the questions if you're afraid to ask Cheyenne." Ryan nudged him slightly and winked.

Arthur didn't feel the nudge; his eyes were strayed on a particular soccer player that was just entering the restaurant decked out in a button up and slacks. All of the sudden, he wanted to quit. If he had known that Adrian worked here, he wouldn't have accepted the job. But there was no point in turning back and plus, he needed the money.

Playing it off, Arthur gave a curt nod.

"Think you're good to go." With a final grin, Ryan turned and said farewells to everyone before heading out.

His stomach was fluttering and not for a good reason. He felt nervous, and so stood to the side and watched as the three others worked the tables. They were all smiling, introducing themselves before handing out menus. He was definitely not cut out for this. Maybe quitting was the best idea— but he wasn't a quitter. Holding himself in a straightened position, he watched as a couple entered and seated themselves at one of his tables. After a relaxing exhale, Arthur ventures over with two menus and the manageable smile upon his lips.

"Good afternoon. My name is Arthur, and I'll be your waiter for today." He inwardly applauded himself for not stumbling over the words like he imagined. Placing the menus down, he continued. "What do you want for your drinks?"

The man, appearing in his early forties, peered down at the menu. "Coke." Arthur turned to the woman. "Sweet tea, no ice."

"Alright. I'll be back with your drinks in a few moments."

Arthur was glad to get away; he could feel his fingers trembling. He dismissed himself to the drinks station before glancing around for cups. They weren't in sight.

He blinked.

Well, that was just fantastic.

"They're in the cabinets," came a voice beside him.

Arthur glanced over to the short female as she opened said cabinet and pulled out three cups.

"The dark red ones are for anything but water. The clear ones are for water. The smaller ones are for children." As she informed him of this, she filled her orders of drinks.

"Fill the ice up to three-fourths and the drink up until there's a centimeter left of the cup." She demonstrated it by showing him how it was supposed to look like.

"Straws are in here." She took out three before picking up the drink and casting him a very small smile.

"Welcome to the club," she said before moving away.

Arthur finally relaxed his tensed state.

So far, Cheyenne wasn't that bad. That was good.

What wasn't good was the next person that graced him with his presence. As Arthur removed two adult cups from the cabinet, his ears perked to footsteps. When he was filling one cup with ice, he glanced over.

Adrian removed four from the cabinet without a look in his direction. He then proceeded to take over the soda stand, leaving it so Arthur had to fill the sweet tea first. As Arthur moved back, Adrian was done. He gathered the four cups, two in each hand, and then threw a look in Arthur's direction.

The other wasn't smirking; his expression was dead serious.

"Welcome to hell," Adrian said before moving away.


	13. Chapter 13

**Warning;** alternate universe, supernatural, teen! Arthur, OCs

**Disclaimer;** when the person reading this doesn't lose the game.

**Author's Notes;** This is probably, more than likely, the second to last chapter, because I don't want to extend it too much. It's already 100k words (goodness!). Thank you all for still reading and reviewing! Special thanks to _Voldemort's Spawn_ for the restaurant tips! Annnd, I think that's it. Enjoy this chapter ~

* * *

It wasn't Adrian that made the work like hell; in fact, it was the customers. In the five hours he worked, he came in contact with snobby ones, indecisive ones, and even ones that completely ignored him. Around eight, the hour before the closing time, the place buzzed with _more_ activity. He barely had time to look over and see what his fellow workers were doing since he had to serve two tables that had a mass of children flocking the parents. And on top of that, they were loud and messy. Arthur found his nose crinkled slightly at the sight of them when he was away from the tables. He didn't like children; they were bothersome.

But he did his job, anyways.

By now, he was sure that he had the gist of almost everything. He knew that when serving food, he shouldn't use his bare hands because that may very well burn them. He learned that he had to make the salad, which came in two occasions over the hour. Luckily, Dom was around to instruct him on how to correctly make the salad. During that time, Arthur just stood to the side thinking about why was salad making so specific. But he didn't mention such; he simply thanked Dom for his time before ushering out with the salad for the two that ordered them.

Ten minutes later, the family of five, including three kid's ranging from two to six, got up and paid. Arthur was left to deal with an extremely messy table that made him cringe at the mere sight of it. On the bright side, the people did leave three dollars tip. After sweeping the money into his pockets, he continued to clean the table.

And of course, Mal and Eames chose that exact moment to waltz in. Then Eames, having no such courtesy, greeted him with a loud "_hello, darling_" which probably, more than likely, gained looks.

"Not now, Eames," Arthur hissed, bringing the dishes to the back, but ended up handing them to Mal who offered to take them.

As he washed the cloth and went back to the table to finish cleaning, Eames' hand ghosted down his back.

"You look gorgeous," the Englishman murmured in his ear before seating himself down at one of his assigned tables.

Bastard.

Arthur still had a table of six (_four_ kids!) and a snobby couple to take care of.

After he finished cleaning the table, he turned to Eames and was faced with both Eames and Mal sitting at his specific table.

Fantastic. More work.

"Is there anything you want?" he questioned, quirking a brow.

Mal smacked his arm. "That's not how you greet guests," she scolded, but Eames, on the other hand, went a step farther. "I want you and your lovely arse, thank you."

Arthur didn't even bother to look in the light brunet's direction. His sights strayed on Mal as best as he could. "My apologies." He cleared his throat and began again. "Good evening. My name is Arthur, and I'll be your waiter for the evening. May I start you on any drinks?"

"Mm, can you get us the menus?" Mal questioned, smile stretching on her lips.

Arthur narrowed his eyes slightly.

Mal didn't need a menu; she knew it frontwards, backwards, and inside out (they had a memorization game yesterday to help Arthur learn the menu).

Nevertheless, he complied. "One moment," he responded, excusing himself and scurrying away while cursing softly under his breath.

As he returned with the menus and asked for their drink orders once more, Mal decided that it was humorous to test him.

"Do you have any tea?"

He turned the menu over and pointed to the drinks section. "All the drinks are listed here."

She peered down for a moment before speaking again. "Does the ice cost extra?"

What kind of question was that?

"They come with the drink."

And then, Eames, such a bastard, added onto the mess. "Would it be considered three drinks if I tell you I want Coke, Sprite, and Dr. Pepper in one cup?"

"Eames," Arthur scowled.

Mal smacked his arm again. He gave in once more.

"It is considered one drink."

"Mm, alright. I'll have that, and no ice." Arthur wrote the three down before turning to Mal. "And for you?"

"Cafe au lait with a dash of whip cream, s'il vous plaît." Coffee. She _had_ to order coffee.

Reluctantly, the young waiter scribbled her order down before informing the two that he would be back with their drinks shortly.

After setting up the coffee maker for the order, he ushered to the snobby couple. They were just finishing up after a good hour of talking and laughing much like hyenas. He placed the check down on their table and forced a smile.

"Here is your check. Pay up front when you're ready." _And leave a fucking tip, because you both been assholes_, he thought. "And have a lovely evening."

Arthur then moved away to check up on the large family. They waved him off with a fine, which forced him to go back to grab the coffee and mixed drink. As he arrived at Mal's and Eames' occupied table, he spotted Dom sitting next to Mal, arm slung around her shoulder. They both made conversation while Eames sat silently, menu in his face. Arthur wasn't fooled; it was obvious that the Englishman still didn't like Dom. It wasn't like Arthur could do anything about it anyways.

Setting the orders down, he turned to Eames. "Are you ready to order?"

The other lowered the menu slightly and peered at him. Again, Eames was going through the no-amusement-no-smile phase that made Arthur's heart start thundering.

"Where's the restroom?"

"On the right side of the counter."

Eames placed the menu down. "Thank you." The words thrown at him were stiff, but held no bite. The oceanic eyes, though, lingered on him for a moment before Eames hastily made his way to the restroom.

Arthur, thinking nothing of it, returned his gaze with Dom and Mal. "Are you ready to order?" he questioned, beating away the fact that Dom's arm was around her shoulder.

The brunette beamed up at him. "Yes. A chicken salad would be lovely." And of course she would order a salad.

"Alright. I'll be back shortly with your order."

Making his way out, Arthur disappeared behind the closed door to tell the chief about the order. As the older man, Dom's dad, started on the chicken, Arthur took up the spot of making the salad. It wasn't long until it was finished and served with Ranch, according to Mal's request.

By now, Dom had returned to the back to help around, which left Arthur standing there and watching her try the salad.

"How is it?" He asked, seeking for approval.

Thankfully, approval was given to him. She gave a slight nod. "Pretty good. And you should check on Eames before cleaning the table over there."

Arthur lifted his gaze and saw that the snobby couple was gone. He gave a curt nod to her before reverting his steps and heading to the restroom.

There were only two small restrooms; one for the females and one for the males. Assuming that Eames went into the males', he knocked.

"Eames? You alright?"

He was actually quite fearful of what he would see when and if the door opened. Would Eames give him a murderous look? Would he play it off with a smile? Maybe he was crying? Arthur didn't think that the other would go that far (it wasn't that bad), but Eames was always unpredictable.

Speaking of unpredictable, the door opened and he was hauled inside. The next thing Arthur was aware of was that he was shoved into the door, closing it with a slam, and lips were on his own. He had taken the contact by sheer surprise, which gave him the advantage of shoving Eames off, but he didn't. He ended up letting Eames pull a breath away after a few seconds.

"It's about bloody time," the Britishman scowled, pecking his lips once more. "I hate that man," he continued, punctuating each word with a kiss on his lips or neck. "Arthur, can we please**—**"

"I have a table to clean," the young teen responded, trying to keep his excitement at a low level.

Eames' eyes met his own. "Can it wait?"

"Can _you_ wait?" Arthur shot back.

Eames broke into a crooked grin. "No, darling, I can not. I wasn't kidding when I said I wanted you and your gorgeous arse."

Arthur, despite the fact that the atmosphere was different seconds ago, found himself smiling in return. "I know you weren't."

Eames hummed a note before leaning in and touching their lips once more. Arthur's eyes closed immediately as his arms circled the older of the two's neck.

Their kiss, this time, was drawn out. It was filled with passion and desire, but at the same time, it seemed cautious and hesitant. Arthur was nervous slipping his tongue past Eames' lips, and in return, the other tested the waters by touching his tongue with his own, and then curling it around and deepening the kiss. Arthur wasn't exactly sure why there was confusion of whether to do this or not, but kissing Eames, he felt that that didn't matter at the moment. But unfortunately, the kiss ended when Eames pulled away, again, and pressed their foreheads together.

"I'm the luckiest man in this world."

Arthur leaned forward to place a chaste, quick kiss on the beautiful mouth. "Are you?" he teased.

A chuckle escaped from the man's throat. "I'm able to kiss you. And believe me, I will kiss you until the world ends." Eames leaned over and pecked him again. "I love you," he whispered, breath tickling Arthur's lips. It was actually those words that set his heart beating, pulling him back to reality.

"I have to get back to work," he said hastily, eyes gazing elsewhere.

Eames sighed and moved away. "I can't keep doing this, Arthur."

The student's gaze returned, confused.

"Every time I tell you that I feel strongly for you, you wave it off, and then you kiss me as if we ... as if we're lovers."

"I**—**" Arthur cut off his own words, not sure of what to say.

Eames, hearing this, seemed to give in. He reached over and unlocked the restroom door.

Arthur moved aside so that the door could be pulled open.

Eames then met his gaze once more. "I don't want to be your toy."

Those words pierced the younger male. A flicker of regret flashed over Arthur's face, but Eames offered nothing but a small, probably forced, smile.

"See you outside, dear."

Arthur's head was whirling as he tailed Eames back to the table. He was gifted with two tables to clean now, as Mal kindly pointed out. With a faint sigh, Arthur went around and began clearing away the table. As he did, he snuck glances in Eames' direction. Each time, the other would meet his gaze with a smile, making his heart skip a beat.

He liked and didn't like the feelings that Eames gave him at the same time; this he discovered from repeatedly gazing over. He didn't like it because it made him seem weak in some way**—** as if his control**—** his shield was broken down by said Englishman. He felt as if he could simply give himself in for Eames. But at the same time, he liked the feeling. It felt nice being touched, kissed, and cared for. The fluttery after feeling only made him desire more.

Eames had a point, though. What exactly was he doing? He kissed back; he wanted it more, but yet, he didn't know exactly if he wanted Eames. It was a difficult feeling to understand. He wanted Eames to touch, kiss, and care for him, and he would gladly return it**—** didn't that mean that they were friends with some benefits? Arthur didn't think so. The feeling of confusion wasn't mutual. Eames said many times that he liked ... _loved_ him. Maybe Arthur just wasn't cut out for relationships such as this. He was a teenager, after all, and this would be the first sort of relationship, romance wise, that he would get himself into.

The topic continued to make him nervous. He didn't like the talk of this, but with Eames bringing it up every day, it was hard to avoid it. Yet, Arthur didn't blame him. If he were in the light brunet's shoes, he would be impatiently demanding an answer as well so that he would know that his time was being wasted or not.

Arthur hoped that Eames didn't come to that thought. He wanted Eames' time**—** but that wasn't the main question. The main question was whether or not he felt the same.

Thinking about it now gave him a headache, which made work worse, so he shrugged it off for now.

As he finished up with the two tables, he ushered back to get a rag. Adrian and Cheyenne were there as well, talking under their breath about some customer. When he cleared his throat, Adrian threw him a look and Cheyenne threw him a rag. Not wanting to get involved with them, he turned around and headed back.

As he whisked by Mal's and Eames' table, he felt a hand brushing his wrist, running down to his fingers, then slipping away. When he glanced back, Eames busied himself with sipping his drink while Mal finished her salad.

Normally, Arthur would question who did that, but he knew the answer already. The small quirk of a smile upon Eames' lips proved that the other had done that, but Arthur was nice enough not to call it out.

On the other hand, Kendell, the waiter that he hadn't spoken to, caught the interaction and decided that announcing it would be the best possible thing to do.

"Ohoho! I saw that!"

Thank God there weren't any customers around. But Arthur wished there were so that Kendell wouldn't pull off something like that. He tried to ignore the outburst, but with Kendell bouncing up to the table he was cleaning and sticking out a hand, he couldn't find himself ignoring such.

"We haven't met yet. Customers and all. I'm Kendell, call me Kenny, and I am fabulous!"

Arthur blinked, then shook the hand out of courtesy before introducing himself. "Arthur."

"Arthuuur, you and the guy." Kendell gestured wildly at the only occupied table. "How long?"

Again, Arthur blinked, but that only made Kendell wrap his arm around the brunet waiter's shoulder.

"I'm good at keeping secrets. Don't you worry." Kendell then flicked his nose and pulled away with a laugh.

Arthur found himself frowning a bit.

"Now, now. Don't do that, darling. You'll get wrinkles on your pretty face, and let me tell you this, putting on cream is a pain!"

Kendell pinched Arthur's cheeks before raising a hand and flailing it about. "Adri-darling, you never told me that the new waiter was cute!" Kendell gazed back at him, eyes twinkling.

Arthur's cheeks began to burn as he attempted to move away. He didn't get far, though, since Adrian closed in.

"Stop being gay, Kendell," the soccer player said, frowning as well.

Kendell mimicked a dramatic gasp. "Stop being gay? How you wound me with words!" He then turned and patted Arthur's shoulder. "Don't worry about this grouchy bear, dollface."

"Kendell," Adrian drew out, sounding dangerous.

Kendell then switched sides and threw an arm around the athlete. "Awh, you're just jealous. But! Bad news. Arthur's already taken by a lovely man that I don't mind banging!"

Adrian scoffed at the sound of that, and Arthur wasn't happy.

"He's not**—** we're not**—**" Arthur started awkwardly, but Kendell piped up.

"Together? Ooh, that means you'll have a chance." The redheaded waiter gave a playful punch to Adrian's arm.

Adrian scowled, rubbing his arm. "Your girlfriend's going to think that you're a fag."

Arthur's face darkened at the sound of that word, but that didn't stop Kendell.

"Ooh, naughty word. I should spank you for that. But alas, Gwen doesn't care."

"You're a disgrace to straight guys," Adrian murmured, tossing Arthur a look before walking off.

"You're just jealous!" Kendell called after before turning back to Arthur. "Sorry for that. He's usually a bastard anyways. I'm going to pester him more. Nice meeting ya, Art! And oh, tell your boyfriend that I said hi and that he has lips to die for. Tata!" With a wave, the waiter hurried off to bother the other.

Arthur had never been so glad to get out of a conversation with people. Kendell, in his opinion, was irritating, but much better than Adrian would ever be.

Shoving them from his head, the student finished cleaning the table before returning to Eames and Mal.

"Do you need anything else?"

Mal shook her head while Eames peered at him. "Is he interested?" he asked, nodding in Kendell's and Adrian's direction.

Arthur quickly shook his head. "He has a girlfriend."

The Englishman stared at him in disbelief.

"My gay radar was going off too the first time I met him," Mal murmured, "but he's one of the straightest guys you'll ever meet."

"Good," Eames replied with a little more than needed enthusiasm. Arthur gave him a pointed look, and Eames grinned. "I'm possessive," he inquired, running his fingers through Arthur's own.

"I realized, Mr. Eames," came the faintly annoyed response, but Arthur wasn't all that irritated. Though usually he would hate to be possessed and claimed in any way, from Eames, it wasn't as bad.

"Are we ready to go?" Mal questioned, breaking them from their intense staring contest.

Arthur glanced at the time. It was past nine. He gave a short nod. "I have to clean up first."

Mal stood up an gathered the small mess. "Oh, don't bother. I'll take this to Dom. You two head home, alright? I'm going to ask Dom about where you two can stay."

Oh, right. He forget that Mal was leaving tomorrow.

"When are you leaving?" Eames asked, beating Arthur to it.

"We're thinking around noon tomorrow. If I can't get Dom, I'll try Ariadne."

Arthur nodded a bit. "Thanks, Mal."

She beamed at him. "Not a problem. Now, run along and take a shower."

Arthur flushed, but complied.

After saying farewell to those within the restaurant, he exited the place. The immediate second the cool air breezed through, the young teen gave a sigh of relief. Eames, in response, laughed softly and wrapped his arms around him from behind.

"Hard day?" he murmured.

Arthur tilted his head back slightly. "Somewhat. You two made it complicated."

"Mm, I'm a complicated man." Eames kissed his ear. "Shall we?"

"I need to pick up more clothes and my textbooks." The second Arthur said that, he felt the other tense.

"We're not going back."

"You don't have to go in."

"If you think I'm going to let you in alone**—**"

"It'll be better if you stay in the car."

Eames' grip tightened around his body. "We can buy new clothes."

"The books**—**"

"We can have Mal retrieve it."

"We're relying on Mal too much. I'll be fine."

"No, Arthur."

Arthur scowled. "I'm old enough to make my own decisions."

"And I'm older than you. I don't want you to see him**—**"

"I won't talk to him**—**"

"No."

Arthur broke out of the arms and glared at the opposing figure. "He won't be able to kill me, alright? Relax."

Except, Eames didn't relax. He became the opposite.

"Don't," he began stiffly, taking a step close, "ever mention yourself and that."

Arthur stood his ground and met the fiery eyes.

"I don't want to hear that ever again."

"He won't**—**"

"I don't want to lose you. I don't want to think about losing you."

This side of Eames made Arthur's knees weak, and not for a good reason either. He hated the look Eames was giving him.

"Do you understand me?"

Arthur gave a jerky nod and Eames stepped away.

"Let's go," he mumbled, rounding Arthur's vehicle and getting into the passenger seat.

Arthur was hesitant as he removed himself from the state of shock enough to climb into his seat and close the door. He didn't move past that, though. Eames didn't make a noise to talk, either. So they sat in silence for a minute or two before Arthur managed to work up the courage and start the car.

The ride back was very awkward and dreadfully quiet. Many times, Arthur glanced over and opened his mouth to say something, but he ended up chickening out at the last moment and turning his attention back to driving. He didn't know how Eames could change _him_ so easily.

Before, he was sure that he could pop out any comment with sharpness and not a tone of pity in his voice. It was as if he was afraid to say something. Though he doubt Eames would attack him, he was still hesitant. It was probably the thought that he didn't want Eames to go or become mad at him or something along those lines.

After all, both frightened him. It wasn't the jumpy scare either; it was more of the "_what will happen_?" nervous scare. If Eames left, Arthur wasn't sure how he would react. The mere thought of that pained him. He was pretty sure that it would be much worse when it happened.

At that, he gripped his steering wheel tighter. He didn't need to think about this at the moment; he needed to get them home safely. That was the priority at this moment.

Luckily, the house was around the corner.

Arthur slowed a bit to turn before pulling into the parking area. From there, he turned off the engines and sat back against the seat. He didn't make a move to get out and from the sounds of it, neither did Eames.

The silence was killing him. Arthur wanted to say something, but what? He shouldn't apologize for saying something like that. It didn't imply anything. Eames was just overreacting. And well, Eames was overreacting because he cared, no? Arthur didn't know what was going through Eames' head.

At least, he didn't know before.

When Eames shifted over, placed a hand on the back of Arthur's head and pulled him into a kiss, Arthur knew exactly what was going through the other's head**—** or so he wanted to think. He returned the hungry kiss, teeth scraping against Eames' bottom lip.

This kiss differed from the ones before. There was no use of tongue, but it was still heavy, resulting in many short intakes of breath and the collision of teeth. It was almost power-hungry, a storm, a mess. Arthur leaned into it, hand placed on Eames' neck, drawing him closer. The contact of their mouths ended, though, when Eames' lips slipped down to his chin.

"Dammit, Arthur," came the hoarse whisper. "You're going to be the death of me."

Arthur peered at the eyes looking at his own.

"Don't say that," he murmured, echoing Eames' words from before.

Eames ducked his head and grinned against his neck. "It's alright if I'm the one dying first."

The clench in his chest was absolutely painful to the point that Arthur almost teared up. _Almost_.

"No, it's not alright."

The hand that rested on Eames' neck went up and touched his cheek. Eames drew up slightly and met his gaze once more.

"No?"

"It'll never be alright."

"My apologies, darling. I'll never mention it again. If I do, slap me."

Arthur's lips curved into a soft smile. "Alright." He then kissed the gorgeous mouth again before unbuckling himself. "Mal's here," he announced, which made Eames draw back and get out of the car. Arthur followed the action and glanced over at Mal.

She gave him a pointed look. "I don't even want to know what you two were doing. But come on." She opened the front door, announced her arrival to her father, and then stripped herself from her shoes.

As Arthur did the same, she began once more.

"Dom can't have you over, but Ariadne said she has a small guest room. Better than nothing."

"I don't really want to bother," Arthur started, rising to his feet after straightening his shoes' placement on the floor.

"It's fine," Mal responded. "Besides, Ari seemed rather enthusiastic having you and Eames over. I can only imagine how she would react when she finds out that Eames is British." She glanced over his shoulder and winked at the other male. "I'd suggest packing now and washing your clothes. I can lend some of father's old ones if you need."

Arthur gazed over at Eames before giving a slight nod. "That would be helpful, but I can manage**—**"

"He doesn't even wear them anymore. So it's nothing. I'll go pester him now about it. You two run along and don't do anything." Her eyes narrowed on the both of them before she bounced up the stairs.

Arthur met Eames' eyes once more.

"She's like an angel sent from Heaven," Eames murmured.

The young teen found himself agreeing as he proceeded to the guest room. "Yeah, I appreciate her existence."

Eames snorted at the sound of that, and Arthur's mouth stretched into a familiar grin.

As they packed, they did so in silence much to his dismay. Arthur, though usually prone to silence, simply wished that some sort of conversation would strike up so that it wasn't necessary that his thoughts would run freely.

He didn't want to think anymore; he was far too tired, and he needed to take a shower before throwing all the clothes into the washer.

Luckily, though, they didn't have a lot of items, so Arthur was free to step under the sprinkling water within fifteen minutes.

He washed himself thoroughly, allowing the scent of his shampoo travel around, giving him a smell that was much better than the sweat-like one he possessed moments ago.

His muscles relaxed as well when he massaged them. But the shower he took was a quick one. Though he was tempted to dwell and think about everything, he knew that that was probably not the greatest idea. Pushing it from his mind, Arthur stepped out of the shower and dressed himself. When he returned, he was greeted with a large box in which Eames was going through, trying on the items with Mal supervising.

"Do they fit?" the Englishman questioned, drawing close to the other two. Eames turned to him, flaunting a Christmas colored t-shirt that read "_JUMP_".

"You tell me." Arthur honestly thought it was hideous, but Eames seemed to work it well. "Good enough."

Mal picked something out of the box. "These were dad's teenage clothes, so I'm sure most will fit you both. But I suggest washing them first, since it has been thirty years or so."

Arthur gazed at the jacket she was holding up. "My thanks to your father."

Mal beamed at him before tossing the jacket back into the box. "He just wants to be helpful. He was actually kicked out once, so he knows the feeling."

Well, that was coincidental.

"S'probably the main reason why he succumbed easily to me asking. But aside from that, where's your laundry?"

Arthur pointed to a pile of clothes located at the very corner of the room.

"Alright. I'll get them washed. There's dinner on the table, by the way. Call me if you need anything."

After scooping the clothes into a basket, Mal hurried out. Arthur tried calling her back, embarrassed by the fact that she would be handling his underwear, but she shouted that it was fine and that she did her father's on a normal basis. Eames wasn't much of a help either when he chuckled.

The dark brunet, attempting to bat off that thought, huffed softly before proceeding to the kitchen table. His stomach curled with hunger as he spotted the food that was covered by plastic wrap on the table. Once observing all that was offered, Arthur dug into the pasta.

It was the best pasta he ever tasted, save the one his mother made. He completely savored his share of it. and he didn't bother hiding his hunger from Eames, who seated nearby, either. Arthur continued to scarf down said pasta and a few rolls before cleaning up after himself.

As he did the dishes, he crossed the thought that he wouldn't taste this sort or his mother's kind of foods again, and he cursed himself for not standing around and learning how to cook the dishes.

— **ox — xo —**

"So this is the Eames you're talking about!" Ariadne exclaimed the moment she threw open the door to her house and greeted them.

"Talking about me?" Eames drawled, nudging Arthur a bit. "I'm honored."

While Arthur beat down the blush that bloomed in his cheeks, Ariadne, as Mal predicted, made a comment about Eames' accent.

"He's from England! Wait. Is this the Eames that went missing?"

Arthur automatically turned to Mal, who shared a common, panicked look. Of course it was the same Eames, but they didn't actually take the time to make up a story.

But luckily, Eames still stood; he cleared his throat for a split second. "Yeah. Went to England for a few years. Needed to take care of my mum**—** she came down with the bloody breast cancer."

Arthur knew that that was a lie; he was aware of Eames' mother's status.

"Oh, I'm sorry. And come inside." As she gestured them in, she continued to spit out questions. "Arthur was obsessed over you**—**"

"Ariadne!" Arthur said sharply, but he was ignored.

"**—** I can only imagine his expression when he actually met you! Anyways. Here's the guest room. I'll have to find one of those blow up mattresses**—**"

"It's fine," Eames said briskly, brushing past them to put their belongings down. "Me and Arthur share the**—**"

"That would be lovely," Arthur responded, a bit louder so Eames' words weren't heard.

And Mal, standing off to the side, laughed.

"So ... you two are ... ?" Ariadne quirked a brow.

"No," Arthur said quickly before Eames got a chance to breathe. "He just**—**" Shit, how was he supposed to explain why Eames was with him? He wasn't one to pick up a random hitchhiker. "**—**just came back to visit the house, and**—**"

"**—**I was mistaken for his boyfriend, so we both got kicked out."

Ariadne didn't seem convinced, and Arthur wouldn't be either if he was hearing this. Everything was made up on the spot, and since he was playing the nervous card, he couldn't find a correct story. Mal wasn't much of a help either.

"And you kept him?" Ariadne was suspicious, which could be seen from the way she was looking at them with narrowed eyes.

"It's the British charm," Eames finished, beaming as if he just won an award.

"I see ..." She gave Arthur a pointed look that clearly demanded the real story at a later time.

Arthur tried ignoring this look by glancing over at Mal. "Thanks for everything, Mal. We owe you."

"Don't mention it. Take care of them, Ariadne."

She opened her arms and Ariadne fell into the embrace. When Mal finished with hugging Ariadne and Eames, Arthur wrapped his arms around her. Arthur wasn't one to hug. He always hated hugging or casual contact in general, but he figured it would be a nice appreciative gesture if he returned said hug.

"Don't let Eames seduce you," she whispered before pulling away and patting his cheek. "Alright. I need to go back and help dad pack up. See you soon, and update me with what's going on here."

With a smile and a wave, Mal left.

"You are a horrible liar." That was the first thing Ariadne said to him after they sent Mal off.

"Thanks for blowing it," Eames added on, patting his shoulder. "No pun intended." He winked playfully at Arthur before turning his sole attention to Ariadne. "Yes, we're very much**—**"

"**—**appreciative of your hospitality until I can manage by myself," Arthur gritted out, throwing Eames a glare that lasted a split second so that Ariadne wouldn't catch it.

"It's nothing, but**—**we're going to have a bit of a problem if he's your ... boyfriend." She chewed on her bottom lip.

"He's not," Arthur found himself assuring, brows furrowed a bit.

He felt as if he was assuring**—** _persuading_ himself of that. The mere thought of being Eames' ... partner sent his heart thundering, but also with that thought was all the confusing emotions. He was torn again, and now was definitely not the time to think about it.

"Problem?" he asked.

"We're supposed to meet Houston and Renzo area the cafe in**—**" She glanced at the time. "**—** ten minutes."

Arthur didn't see how that was a problem, but the moment he noted Eames' frown, it clicked.

Eames and Lorenzo were definitely not going to get along.

"And we were talking about a double date**—**" Ariadne glanced over at Eames' nervously. In response, the Englishman shifted relatively closer to Arthur and touched his elbow gently as if to command him to say no. "Even if I go with Houston, you'll be there with**—**"

"Say I'm went shopping." Arthur, somewhat consciously, grabbed Eames' wrist as if he was afraid that Lorenzo might jump out of the closet and tackle Eames down.

"He'll wait."

"Can you cancel it? Say that your mother**—**"

Ariadne shook her head.

"Shit," Arthur murmured. "Can we stay here?"

"Dad doesn't feel comfortable**—**"

"Eames can just be a customer. I'll deal with Lorenzo."

The female planted her hands on her hips. "He's not going to be happy when he finds out that you've been leading him on," she stated.

"We didn't agree that we were dating. It was just a friendly gather**—**"

"How old is he anyways?" Ariadne cut in, her eyes set on Eames.

"Twenty one," the light brunet responded, the answer stiff and without any sort of emotion but dislike.

Ariadne's gaze returned to Arthur. "I thought it's illegal**—**"

"We're not dating," Arthur pressed, drawing the hand he had around Eames' wrist away in attempt to prove what he just said.

"Does it matter?" Eames questioned. Arthur felt arms circling his waist and he quickly batted them away. Eames refused to move them. "It's his decision."

"I'm not against it!" Ariadne said quickly, looking flustered. "You two are adorable and**—** but it's ... he can get arrested."

"Ariadne," Arthur stressed, pulling himself from the Englishman's grip. "We're not dating," he repeated for a final time.

She eyed him. "Does that mean you might be interested in Renzo?"

If he had the strength and guts to pull out all his hair, Arthur would have done so by now.

"Can we not talk about this?"

"You should answer the question," Eames murmured.

"I'm not interested in Lorenzo. Now, about the situation**—**"

"I refuse to be a customer."

"Would you rather be locked in the car?"

"He might make a move."

"I can take care of myself, Eames."

"Arthur, you know**—**"

"Yes, I know**—**"

"You two are like an old married couple." At the sound of that, Arthur's gaze snapped to Ariadne. He had forgotten that she was there for a moment.

"Can I have a moment with Eames?"

She nodded in response and back away.

Arthur closed the door and then turned back to the older male. "Just cooperate for once."

"You can't ignore me, Arthur."

"I'm not**—**"

"Oh, so I'm just a mere customer sitting around, minding my own business while watching you and Renzo touch each other." Oceanic eyes narrowed a him. "How nice of you to think of me, darling."

Arthur scowled. "It won't be anything like that. He's not as bad as your making him."

"So you're taking back your words, mm?"

"You're being inconsiderate."

"I'm being inconsiderate?" Eames hissed, drawing dangerously close to Arthur.

He wanted to take a few steps back for space, but he stood his ground. Eames was not winning this.

"Did you ever consider my feelings? You knew my heart was broke when you kissed Dom. And yet, you bring Renzo home and make out with him in front of the goddamn mirror. Do you know how I felt? I was so angry**—** I felt hopeless. Used. Useless. You broke my heart, and then you fucking shattered every one of those broken pieces. You know**—** Mal said the same to me. Said that I was inconsiderate." Eames was glowering now and practically emitting waves of bitter anger.

Arthur, truthfully, wanted to run. He wanted to be a coward and run away from these feelings and Eames, specifically, but he couldn't. His feet were rooted on the spot as if he stepped into a puddle of super glue. His eyes refused to flicker off the blue-greens ones as well.

He kept his posture; he kept his straight face, but on the inside, he felt everything come undone. He wanted it to stop. He wanted Eames to shut up. But it didn't stop there.

"She told me that I'll be fine. That you like me. That you won't do anything stupid. She lied to me." Eames' lips curled into a faint snarl of disgust. "I tried to believe her. I put on a smile. I pretended that seeing you and Dom together was okay, but it's not. And it won't be better with this Renzo. But you know what, Arthur? Despite the fact that I'm a moronic, pining, selfish prick, I still consider your feelings. I want you to be happy, alright? Just like I told you before. When you're happy, I'm happy. Seeing you smile, even if it's not to me, makes me appreciate what I had with you."

Eames let out a shaky breath before leaning forward slightly so that their breaths mingled.

"But I'll have you know that I will never be truly happy without you. That's what you did to me, Arthur."

That was the end of the confession, thankfully, but Arthur wasn't about to yank Eames in for a kiss. He wanted to, but it wasn't the time and place for such action. In turn, he let out a few exhales before starting, his eyes still strayed on the other.

"You're not as considerate as you make yourself. You keep telling me your feelings, and I've stated many times that I rather not talk about them. Yet, you insist**—**"

"**—** It wasn't necessary that you had to reply."

"Let me finish," Arthur returned sharply before taking out a breath and starting again. "And with Lorenzo, I was needy, alright? I wanted to feel wanted."

"I was always there for you."

"It wasn't what I needed."

"You fucking played me."

"I wasn't aware of your feelings**—**"

"That's a lie and you know it!"

"You're making this complicated than it actually is, Eames."

"Well, I'm sorry for caring. I should have never changed from my past self. Maybe then I wouldn't be here, trying to hold back from bawling like a baby."

"I never asked you to care."

"I didn't either. You could have left me out of the streets to starve and die." When Arthur didn't have a response, Eames continued. "But you didn't. What does that mean? You care about me. Don't lie to yourself. You're shit at lying. You**—**"

Before the rest could be said, there was a knock on the door.

"They're at the cafe," Ariadne reminded. "You know, if it's really a problem, I can just call in sick or**—**"

"It's fine, Ariadne," Arthur answered rather coldly. "Give us five more minutes." He glared at Eames who gladly returned his glare.

"Alright, five minutes."

When Ariadne said nothing else, Arthur began again in a lower vice so that Ariadne couldn't hear.

"This argument is a waste of time. Let's just go."

Eames' features darkened visibly. It reminded Arthur much of a storm. The furrows of the Englishman's eyebrows initiated the storm stirring. The sneer was thunder. The hateful look in the oceanic eyes were the winds**—** fierce, determined. And the darkness that crossed his features was the final straw.

"You're saying that all my feelings for you are bullshit."

"I didn't say that."

"You implied it**—**"

"I did not! I was merely stating that we're being immature**—**"

"I don't even know why I chose you. You're an inconsiderate, stuck up bastard, and I still love you."

"I'm not sure why I do things for you. You're a inconsiderate, stupid prick, and I fucking**—**" Arthur's face was already flushed from the anger, but he felt his cheeks burn again. "**—** and I hate you."

Eames' narrowed his eyes. "You don't mean that."

"You don't know what I'm thinking."

"You're lying."

"I hate you, Eames. I hate you. You fucked up my future, my life. You**—**"

"You're not the only victim here. You fucked up everything for me too. I can't even look at someone else with interest. I can't even think that they're more beautiful than you are. I can't help the pain in my chest when I see you with someone else. I'm already fucked, thanks to you. And now, you're saying that you ... that you**—**"

Eames finally broke; he turned away and covered his eyes.

And Arthur felt absolutely horrible watching the scene unfold. He hated seeing Eames like this. He hated this situation. This fight. He hated himself for making decisions. He hated his confusion**—**

Eames sharply inhaled. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "I'm sorry, Arthur. I can't. I just can't. I**—** I'm sorry."

Arthur reached out and touched Eames' hand shielding the eyes.

Eames bristled a bit and immediately batted the hand away. "Don't touch me. I'm done. We're done. I'll find shelter elsewhere."

"If you were sorry, then we should be okay," Arthur replied quietly.

Eames laughed. "For once, you're wrong. I'm not sorry for what I said. I'm sorry for falling with the most amazing, brilliant, adorable person I've ever met."

"Eames**—**" Arthur began, pulling his hand back with a frown.

"I'm sorry for caring**—** for being there when you needed me**—** for being there even if you didn't need me. I'm sorry for changing for you. And I'm sorry that I fucked up your life. You can just pretend none of this happened**—** that I never existed."

Eames brushed past him and opened the door. "I hope you're happy."

With that, Eames glanced away and gazed at Ariadne, who looked as if she had just seen a ghost.

"Take care of him."

And then, he was gone.

Arthur was simply shocked.

Did Eames just walked out on him?

He certainly did, and moments before, he was declaring his love and**—** shit, the bastard was not getting away now.

But Arthur wasn't chasing. He stood in place, staring back at Ariadne, looking like a dazed idiot. He didn't know if he should chase Eames or not.

Where would Eames go? No where. Maybe Yusuf's or Mal's house**—** but Arthur doubt that they were nearby.

What if Eames didn't come back? Though the other seemed sincere about leaving, Arthur knew that he would be back, because if Eames cared that much, he would come back.

But if Arthur cared, he would be chasing Eames right now. He wasn't, though.

He wanted to take everything back. He wanted Eames to come back, but he wasn't willing to chase him.

Fuck.

"You're just going to let him leave?"

"He chose to," Arthur said when he finally found his voice again.

"But don't you**—**"

"He'll come back."

"How can you be so sure?" she pressed.

"He always comes back."

— **ox — xo —**

Except, Eames didn't come back. Eames didn't come to the cafe. Eames didn't visit him at work. He didn't sleep in the bed Arthur _almost_ cried himself to sleep in. He wasn't there to kiss him good morning, to talk to him, to care, to**—** fuck.

Everything was so different without Eames by his side, and it was only five PM the very next day.

His work shift could not be any longer and ridiculous.

Arthur was continuously pissed and found it hard to smile and be nice to the customers. In return, he ended up with ten dollars less than his average tip, but he could really care less. What was the point of earning more money if he had two thousand? He was still in high school. This was his final year as well. The two thousand should support him until the end of the year.

And with Eames gone, he didn't need to spend more**—** but that was pathetic itself.

Arthur felt odd buying one of everything instead of the usual two whenever they went out for a drink or some food.

And if that wasn't enough, then him addressing Eames out of habit was ultimate oddness.

"Is my tie right, Ea**—**" Arthur caught himself before he could say the name, because Eames was no longer there to tell him if his tie was right.

He never felt so lost.

— **ox — xo —**

"Is he okay?"

Arthur was immediately on his feet and grabbing Yusuf's shoulders when the other stated that Eames had been residing with him for the past week.

"He's fine. Said he's here on a visit and needed a place to crash."

"Did he ... did he say anything about me?" the young teen asked nervously.

"Not that I can remember."

Arthur's heart clenched and he pulled his hands away.

Eames had forgotten him. Eames no longer cared for him.

No**—** no, Eames still cared. Arthur knew. Eames wasn't one to give in. He'll come back. Arthur swore that he would.

— **ox — xo —**

Two weeks were gone. School started, and Arthur continued to stay at Ariadne's. His mother had visited him the weekend before and handed him a few hundred dollars. She also informed him that his father refused to accept him back, and that she was filing a divorce.

Other than that, Arthur began school once he received the books his mother brought to him.

He couldn't focus, though. He thought about Eames excessively, daydreamed about him, and worried his ass off.

— **ox — xo —**

And the third week was everything.

"I want to see him," Arthur inquired.

Yusuf blinked. "Alright."

Arthur was surprised that Yusuf agreed so quickly, which brought him to the thought that Eames was talking about him. But he didn't want to get his hopes up. Yusuf was just nice.

"Let's go, then," Arthur ushered before turning to the rest.

Ariadne was inspecting him from behind the counter, and Houston and Lorenzo were getting ready to leave. His gaze, though, focused on Lorenzo specifically, watching to make sure the other wasn't going to pull anything. But as usual, he did.

Lorenzo strolled close and leaned in. "So, movie this Saturday? No double date, just you and me."

Arthur glanced at Yusuf for a moment. Eames**—** that was who was on his mind. He couldn't, even if he wanted to**—**

"I'll decline."

"You declined the week before and one before that!" Lorenzo informed with a pout.

Ariadne cleared her throat. "Arthur has a boyfriend." And Arthur didn't even make a comeback for that. He just threw Ariadne a pointed look before watching Lorenzo's usual happy face turn to a frowning one.

"I thought we were dating," he whispered, drawing close and obviously ignoring Houston's snickers.

"I never agreed that we were actually dating," Arthur responded, standing his ground with the most manageable stance.

"How long?"

"Three weeks." The dark brunet's lips were tight as he uttered the answer to this. He wasn't Eames' boyfriend. He was using Eames as an excuse again. But that didn't mean that his heart and stomach couldn't flutter to the thought of it.

"How come I never seen him? Does he go to our school? Is he attractive?"

"Renzo!" Ariadne exclaimed, eavesdropping into the conversation.

Lorenzo glanced up. "What? I just want to make sure Arthur's with a right person!"

Some sort of relief brushed over Arthur. Lorenzo didn't seem angry; _thank God_.

"You need to bring him in. I'll evaluate him. One through ten for appearance, personality**—**"

"Let's go, Renzo," Houston cut in, placing a hand on the other's shoulder and patting him. "Leave Arthur alone."

Arthur gazed over Lorenzo's shoulder at Houston and gave him a sincere look of thanks. The other smiled back before leading Lorenzo out (who was whining that he didn't get enough information).

Finally, when they were out of sight, Arthur turned to Ariadne. He wanted to say something about her lie, but the words fell on his lips. Ariadne, on the other hand, had a bit to say.

"Well, you didn't deny it."

And that just made him flustered, so he turned to Yusuf for distraction. "Let's go," he murmured.

Yusuf gave a slight nod before leading the way.

It was only in the car did Arthur realize the time. He was only supposed to stop by Ariadne's for a cup of coffee. And now he had skipped out on the first thirty minutes of work.

"Shit," he cursed, quickly dialing Dom's number.

The other picked up immediately. "Where are you, Arthur?"

"Fuck, Dom, I'm sorry. I got carried away with a conversation. And**—** shit. I'll be there in a few, alright?"

"Better be glad Cheyenne agreed to run your tables. And the Eames guy is here too." Why was Eames there? "He keeps giving me these glares. Best come talk to him."

"Yeah, alright. Be there in five."

Clasping the phone close, he peered down at what he was wearing. He didn't have a tie on, but the outfit would do for uniform.

After the quick confirmation, he dialed Yusuf.

"Did you get lost?" was the first thing he was asked when the phone was picked up on the other end.

"No. I forgot about work. Eames' there too. I'm heading over."

"Oh, alright. Wait. How did he**—** I'm going to check on the house to make sure it's locked."

Just as the phone line cut off, Arthur turned into a parking space and frantically brushed himself up.

The greeter patted him on the shoulder, telling him that Dom was ticked, before ushering him in.

Arthur, ignoring what the greeter told him, was thoroughly embarrassed as he pulled on his waist apron and went to find Cheyenne.

"I apologize for that."

The blonde gave him a small smile. "It's alright. You only had one customer." She glanced over her shoulder at Eames. "Very charming."

She flashed a smile in Eames direction (when the other glanced over for a split second), before gazing back at Arthur.

"Do you personally know him? I saw him with Mal weeks ago. He's really hot, and that accent**—**"

Arthur's eyes narrowed a bit as he frowned. "Yes, I do," he answered, not wanting to hear the rest of her gushing.

"What's his name?"

"Eames."

"Do you have his number?"

"No."

She looked a bit down. "Oh. Okay. Do you know if he goes to our school or ... ?"

Arthur wasn't sure what came over him then, but he was simply blinded by jealousy. Lips tight, he found himself possessive.

"Don't bother. He's taken." The words were sharp and disarming, matching to his desire to shoo her away.

"Oh. I see ... lucky girl," she murmured. "Thanks anyways."

As Cheyenne moved away, Arthur glanced over at Eames.

The other wasn't looking his way, which meant that he had to approach him first. So, with a calming breath, Arthur headed over and prepared himself for the worse.


	14. Chapter 14

**Warning;** alternate universe, supernatural, teen! Arthur, OCs, and of course, Eames / Arthur, last chapter, muhaha ~

**Disclaimer;** when the person reading this doesn't lose the game.

**Author's Notes;** Whoa ho, last chapter, guys! S'been fourteen ... short weeks, and now it's over. Thank you all for reading this far! And thanks for all the anonymous reviewers, English muse-loving moomin, mudkiprox, GreenAwesomeness, FaiNeko, JRoss, _OneWhoSitsWithTheTurtles_, _biblioholic_, _psycholiki, miki_, 3, LastResortUsername, SushiBar, FrozenBloom, robyn redhead, Ashleigh Errow,_ Lazarus76_, Sir Gnome the Giant, _Gunnr_, Michi Li, nikalove345, SlipIntoTheDream, SuddenPsychosis, emmyxogats, CountryPixie, Akkalia, BlackxValentine. Special thanks to **Voldemort's Spawn, lynxzpanther, Lauren James** for reviewing every chapter up to this point. I love all of you guys! And, well, here's the last chapter. C:

* * *

Eames folded the menu up and set it down the moment Arthur seated himself across the table.

"Long time no see," the young teen greeted.

"Long time no talk," Eames responded.

Arthur wasn't entirely sure what to say to that, so he simply fell silent.

His eyes raked the man's face in front of him, observing. It was the face that he had thought of constantly throughout his day during the weeks, but this face was a little different. There was a noticeable stubble that Arthur suddenly had an urge to yearn and touch, but of course, his control kept him back. His eyes then took in the sight of Eames' lips— the mouth he missed dancing with along with his or against his cheek.

And then, the eyes. Arthur remembered seeing everything in them. He saw the glee when Arthur first came into his sights; he saw the panicked one; the upset one; the relieved one; the joyful one; the lusting one; the loving one; the one that hurt; the broken, and the shattered one. Now, he was looking at unknown ones. Eames was just staring back at him, nothing spiraling in his eyes.

Arthur dropped his gaze to the slightly rough hands that were strung together and laid on top of the menu. His thoughts flickered back to the times when Eames would hold his hand, threading their fingers together, holding him close. At such, Arthur felt his fingers twitch, but luckily, they were underneath the table so that the other was unable to see the overwhelming want Arthur possessed to reach out and grab the hand.

"You should get to work." The voice snapped the student back to reality.

Arthur glanced up to meet the familiar eyes once more. Eames' oceanic orbs were still not warm. They were hard, staring into Arthur as if he could see his soul.

"What are you doing here?" His question wasn't supposed to come out in a whisper.

Then again, Arthur wasn't even supposed to be in this condition right now. He shouldn't want to apologize, grab Eames' hand, and kiss the other.

"I was bored," came the English drawl. "I took a walk and ended up here."

Arthur felt his chest clenching.

"Oh." So Eames didn't come to see him, but he somehow doubted that, though; if Eames didn't see want to see him, he would have gotten up and left.

But Eames coming here didn't mean that he cared either. Maybe he just came for a visit, and that was it. That made Arthur feel horrible thinking about it.

He didn't want to be nobody to the Englishman. He wanted to be cared for; he wanted to be lo—

"You have customers." Eames nodded to the table behind him.

Arthur didn't want to look away. He wanted to say "_fuck it_", grab Eames, and kiss him, but that wasn't the case. He took a peek over his shoulder. There, seated around the table was a couple. Exactly what he needed.

Arthur gazed back to Eames, he still returned his look with a blank stare. He didn't want to leave the man, but work called for it. And Eames seemed strung on shooing Arthur away.

"Good afternoon. My name is Arthur, and I'll be your waiter for today. May I start you on some drinks?" The forced smile wasn't natural to him, so he was quite sure it looked eerie to the two, but nevertheless, he tried to manage as best as he could.

"I'll have a coke."

Arthur nodded once and gazed towards the female.

She beamed up at him. "Same."

"Alright. I'll be back with your drinks and the menus."

As he ushered away to fill the order, he sneaked a look in Eames' direction. The other was mindlessly sipping his sweet tea, it seemed like, while looking at the menu.

It was odd not having Eames meet his gaze and wink at him. Instead, it gave him an unsettling feeling, but, like always, he batted the feeling away.

As he returned the cokes and the menus to the couple, he squashed the regretful emotion.

When he left the table, though, he found that the other two tables were unoccupied, and that Eames needed to be waited.

Arthur immediately felt nervous, so, in turn, he glanced around for Kendell (there was no way he was calling out Adrian or Cheyenne). Kendell, unfortunately, was on the other side of the restaurant chatting away with his customers. He didn't want to go all the way over there to get the opposing waiter.

Besides, he didn't want Kendell flirting with Eames. There was no doubt that the two would have a flirting war which would probably end in a game of gay chicken or something. That thought was uneasy in Arthur's head.

He waved the thought off quickly, and after discovering that he _had_ to wait Eames, the young student exhaled slowly. He then squared his shoulders, held his head high, straightened up, and then proceeded to walk over in a brisk manner.

"Would you like a refill?"

His voice hadn't cracked yet, but he was sure that it was going to soon; he was holding on tight to a string of control. But what he was trying to control was a mystery to him— it was either tears or desire, though.

"I'm fine," Eames murmured, not peering up.

It was as if something stabbed his heart.

Arthur gritted his teeth together, willing himself to keep his posture and mask.

"Then, would you like to order anything?"

Eames lifted his gaze and looked at him.

Arthur could imagine the answer right now: Eames would say "_you_", and then grab his collar, haul him in, and kiss him senseless. Unfortunately, that was only his imagination. In reality, Eames surveyed him for a moment before his sights landed back on the menu.

"Not yet."

Arthur felt himself trembling a bit.

This was not how it was supposed to be. Eames was not supposed to be like this. They were supposed to be stealing kisses from each other, giving each other knowing looks, holding hands, and being happy that they have each other.

But they weren't. And that just killed Arthur.

Never before had he felt the overwhelming want for Eames to be in his arms. Never before had he felt so strongly for someone, Eames specifically.

"I'm not ready to order yet." That was the _'go away' _tone again.

How could Eames be so cruel? Couldn't the other see that he was literally breaking down on the inside?

Apparently not.

Arthur wanted to grab Eames, tell the other that he felt the same way, that he wanted Eames, but he didn't. He chickened out and walked away, accepting how it felt to have a taste of his own medicine.

The sight of the couple only made his mood more foul. They weren't all over each other, like the snobby one from weeks back, but they were close. Their hands were joined underneath the table. The female was leaning against the male. They were both talking in whispers, laughing, and supporting each other.

Normally, Arthur would have thought that they were quite appealing, but in the situation he was right now, he just wanted to curse them for gracing him with their presence at this ungodly time. Couldn't they have waited until he had gotten over Eames?

And now, he had to greet them again and take their orders.

It was hard trying to smile and nod while, in the back of his head, he was planning their death and having flickers of Eames' face. When he was safe to usher away and give the order to the cook, his thoughts and body relaxed.

Only then, he was having to wait fifteen or so minutes for the food to be finished. During those minutes, he stepped in Eames' direction many times, wondering if he should ask if the other wanted a refill now (since the tea was gone and Eames was chewing on his straw), but he backed out at the last moment. So he stood to the side, pretending to wipe the counter while watching Eames from the corner of his eye.

The Englishman only gazed his way once, and Arthur lifted his sights to meet the eyes, but Eames had already dropped his gaze, which made Arthur's heart drop in response. He shrugged off the feeling, though, and brought out the food for the couple who had finished sharing a quick kiss and thanked him for the food. Arthur, not trusting his voice, gave a curt nod and turned around.

He, after a moment's worth of consideration, approached Eames' table again. "Would you like a refill?"

"That would be lovely."

Arthur picked up the empty cup and, without further words, headed to the drinks station. It was only then that he noticed a small sticky note on the bottom of the cup. He took it off and leaned over to the trash can to throw it away, but the moment he took note of the three words scribbled on there, he halted.

_'I miss you.' _

If not for the fact that the cup was hovering an inch above the counter, Arthur would have dropped it.

He stared at the note, groping for comprehension. When he finally allowed it to pass through his head, he clutched the sticky note in his palm.

_Eames_ missed him. Maybe everything would be alright.

With a spark of hope, Arthur filled up the cup and ushered back.

"Eames," he started as he placed the drink down. "I-I mi—" _Fuck._ "—would you like ... to order now?"

He couldn't bring himself to admit it. Not in front of everyone.

"No, just give me the check."

Arthur's first thought was _'shit'. _His chance was buried, but maybe he had another.

He excused himself to go grab the check. He then turned it over and scribbled two words down. _'I'm sorry_.' And he honestly was.

Making his way back over, he placed the check on the table, back faced up so that Eames didn't miss it his small response. He then watched as the light brunet read his words.

The Englishman merely glanced at it for a split second before standing up.

"Sorry isn't enough," he stated, not meeting his gaze, then continuing toward the cashier.

Arthur didn't bother to look over his shoulder at the other; he just stood there, his hands clenched into fists, his teeth clenched, tears choked back.

Of course sorry wasn't enough. Just what did Eames want from him?

— **ox — xo —**

School was practically Hell on Earth. Arthur found it harder to focus on each subject, or people for that matter, during the entire day. It went as far as him being called out twice by a teacher to pay attention and a few times by Ariadne and the others.

Ariadne pestered him about Eames through looks rather than words, since they both settled the fact that Eames was a touchy subject to Arthur.

Lorenzo was not like Ariadne. The other was just like he was before, putting his arm around him, leaning into him, joking— it was as if Eames didn't exist at all.

And then there was Mal. Arthur, for sure, knew that she was cooking up a plan, and the main goal of the plan was to get Eames back to him— or at least, that was what Arthur hoped, since he was practically helpless.

— **ox — xo —**

Work was no better. Though the crowd was thinner, considering that it was a weekday, it still kept Arthur on his feet. The first four hours were alright. They could have been better if he hadn't noticed all the couples coming in. At eight on the clock, it wasn't a couple that came in. Instead, it was Eames.

Arthur watched with his heart pounding madly against his chest as the Englishman took a seat at the same table as yesterday.

If sorry wasn't enough, then why was the other even here? Arthur was afraid to ask in case Eames decided to get up and leave. That wasn't what he wanted.

Sucking it up, he headed over.

"Good evening, sir. Would you like anything to drink?" Arthur honestly felt like a robot. The greeting was repeated so many times that he said it before he could even process it, but saying it or not was not on his mind.

What was was why Eames was here. He didn't accept Arthur's apology, so the only reason Arthur could see was that Eames wanted something. He had a fair idea on what that was, but he wasn't _entirely_ sure. Eames wasn't making this easy for him.

"Every cloud is lined with silver," Eames responded, peering at his palms on the table.

Arthur blinked, confused.

"Every cloud has a silver lining," he corrected, though still confused.

"Same difference. Do you know what a silver lining means?"

This topic was random, which, in turned, confused the hell out of the young teen.

"No ... ? Yes?"

Eames gazed up at him, eyes still stale. "A hopeful or comforting prospect in the midst of difficulty."

Arthur stared at the Englishman for a while before he functioned what the words meant and how they were relevant.

Eames was lined with silver. No— he _was_ the silver lining, the hopeful and comforting prospect, that helped Arthur through his difficulties, his ups and downs. Eames was always there. And now, he wasn't entirely sure if this was true or was only what he hoped was true, but he was pretty sure that Eames wanted _him_ to be the silver lining. Eames wanted him to be the hope, the comfort, through this situation, this difficulty. That was why the subject was brought up. It made sense.

"Sprite, no ice."

Arthur snapped from his thoughts. "Pardon?"

"Sprite," Eames repeated, "with no traces of ice."

Arthur's mouth was parted a bit, as if he wanted to say something, but nothing came out. He wished to swoop down and capture the lips, but there seemed to be a barrier. Eames' eyes weren't welcoming him. He was missing something; Eames wanted something else, and he didn't know exactly what it was.

He gave a jerky nod and went off to get the Sprite. As he returned with the drink, he caught sight of Ariadne, Houston, Mal, and Lorenzo seating themselves at one of his tables. All Arthur could think at that moment was '_oh, shit'_, because Lorenzo was here, and so was Eames.

He needed to get someone else to run that table— but Mal already caught his eye. Cursing himself for glancing at her and meeting her gaze, Arthur turned away and proceeded to deliver the drink to Eames. He then lingered for a bit, as if he expected a word of thanks or something, but the Englishman said nothing. He merely sipped on his drink and fondled with his fingers. Arthur was hesitant on deciding whether to leave or ask what Eames wanted to eat. Eventually, before he could even do anything, the Englishman began.

"That's him, isn't it?" Eames leaned back in his chair and fingered the straw wrapper while peering up at Arthur, as if challenging him to answer yes.

And so he did, because he knew who Eames was referring to. "Yes."

The other gazed to Arthur's left, peeking at the occupied table.

"Well ... he's attractive." _Not as attractive as you_, Arthur wanted to say, but he ended up biting his lip and ignoring the stab at his heart.

"Is there anything you want?" _Specifically me_? he added in his thoughts again.

Eames dropped his sights to the wrapper once more. "Fries."

Arthur gave a slight nod before heading back to give the order. When he returned, he came back with menus, a pen, and his notepad. With a relaxed breath, he started to the other occupied table.

"Good evening," he greeted, but not as enthusiastically, as he handed out the menus. "Shall we start with the drinks?"

He quickly gave Mal a knowing glare as he asked this. She perfectly knew of Eames' and Lorenzo's situation. Then again, so did Ariadne. And yet, they still brought him here. That wouldn't be bad if Eames wasn't present, though. But even then, Arthur was suspicious. This could not be some coincidence.

"Three Cokes and a Sprite," Lorenzo ordered with a grin.

The young waiter felt a sickening twist in his stomach, but nevertheless, he continued to ignore all the feelings and proceeded with his job. After he delivered the drinks, he felt Lorenzo's fingers brushing gently across his wrist, an indication wanting him to come closer. Arthur jerked said wrist away, threw a glare in the other's direction, then headed back and picked up the plate of fries Eames had ordered.

Yet, before he strolled over, he set the plate down behind the counter and gently pushed the fries to one side of the plate with a napkin. He then arranged a few fries to spell out _'I MISS YOU'_. Inspecting his work a few seconds later, he wondered if he should show Eames it or not. But it was true; Arthur did miss Eames terribly, and the other did give him the sticky note the previous day. But it was embarrassing, more embarrassing than apologizing, since it was basically screaming out his feelings. That was what he aimed for, though, and that was probably what Eames wanted.

Tossing the napkin away, he picked up the plate and made his way towards the table the Englishman currently resided in. As he set the plate down, he observed Eames' reaction. He was upset to see there wasn't one.

The light brunet merely picked up a fry from the _I _and ate it.

Arthur simply broke. He couldn't stand it— Eames ignoring him; Eames being this distant and cold. He turned and made his way out if sight. Luckily, the men's restroom was free, so he shut himself in there without consideration to others.

The moment he locked the door, he backed against the blockage and slid to the ground, pushing the thought away that the floor could be dirty. He cupped his head, his teeth clenching, his fingers fisting his hair that was delicately slicked back.

He didn't get Eames at all. Why didn't he respond? He didn't even give him a look. He didn't say anything either. Maybe Eames did hate him. Or perhaps he thought that Arthur still hated him. But Arthur apologized and sent the '_I miss you' _message.

What else was Eames expecting? An actual confession? If only he could talk to Eames outside of the restaurant, then maybe.

Eames needed to be considerate, and so did he— but at least he was trying. All Eames was doing was making it harder for him. And— _fuck_. This was not worth crying over.

Arthur tilted his head back and drank back the tears. He needed to calm down. He was only seventeen. He didn't need this in his life. He could move on— just not from this point.

A few moments later, he straightened up and checked himself. Honestly, he thought he looked like shit, even though he appeared no different than he did three weeks back (save the fact that his hair was a bit out of place). And maybe there wasn't the glow of happiness anymore. That was it, though.

Heaving a sigh, the young teen washed and dried his hands before dismissing himself from the restroom. His strong and straight mask came back on as he graced by Eames' table in order to reach the quartet to take their orders. Both Mal and Ariadne happened to order a salad. He was tempted to say that they didn't have lettuce, but that wouldn't earn him anything. He jotted the courses down before turning to Houston and Lorenzo.

"And you?"

"Steak, medium-well. Side of mashed potatoes."

His gaze turned solely on Lorenzo. "And for you?"

Lorenzo glanced over the menu before switching his sights back to the waiter. "Can I have Arthur with a side of a date?"

Arthur's brows furrowed. "Seriously," he said.

"You're no fun anymore. I'll have the same as Houston."

After scribbling this down, the student waiter turned and briskly walked back to the cook. A few minutes later, he helped himself to making the salads while dwelling on both Lorenzo and Eames.

They were similar with their cocky, outspoken attitude. He vaguely wondered why he was more attracted to Eames. Perhaps because the Englishman was always there for him? Or use to be always there? The accent? Could be.

He finished with the salads and placed the plates in front of the females, but before he could move away, Mal grabbed his arm, eyes peering at his own once more, stern and _knowing_.

"You and Eames—"

He was expecting that.

"Please don't," Arthur cut off hastily. "I'm not in the mood to talk about him."

Something flickered across her expression as she slowly moved her hand away and lowered her voice to say, "I'll always be here for you if you need me."

Arthur didn't bother to say a words of thanks. He simply gave a stiff nod, then strolled away.

As business died down, since it was almost time to close, Arthur found himself gazing at both of his occupied tables. Mal, Ariadne, Houston, and Lorenzo were laughing and chatting. Eames was playing with his fries. Across the restaurant, Adrian and Cheyenne were peering in his direction, apparently talking about him. And Kendell, for once, was quiet as he cleaned the tables.

The customers, aside from the ones in his area, were already heading out the door. And from the looks of it, the four and Eames weren't leaving anytime soon. He didn't want to give them the check, either, because that basically meant that they should get out. Dom wouldn't want that for Mal's group. As for Eames, even though they weren't specifically talking, Arthur still wanted to watch from afar; he still wanted to admire the beautiful figure, the delicate movements, the gorgeous lips that _should _be curved into a smile rather than being pressed into a slight line.

But the restaurant was closing, so Arthur was forced to give out the checks. He placed one in front Eames, then ushered over to Mal's group and set the check down there. He then witnessed a slight bicker among the group, Mal offering to pay, but Ariadne claiming that it wasn't fair. In the end, they decided to each pay for what they ordered. But they weren't getting up. Arthur was pretty sure that they were waiting for Dom, and that, in the mean time, Arthur was their source of entertainment.

"So, how much do you make a day?" Ariadne started, leaning over a bit.

"Forty and tip. About sixty, usually."

Ariadne smacked his arm, pouting. "Lucky! I should have taken up on Dom's offer."

"Hey, hey." Lorenzo grabbed Arthur's other arm and pulled him over. "Don't hit him. He's delicate."

"Lorenzo—" Arthur gave the other a pointed look, but Lorenzo only grinned at him before brushing his fingertips along Arthur's wrist and palm.

"It's true."

Chocolate brown eyes narrowed upon the seated figure. He attempted pulling his arm away, but Lorenzo kept the grip locked.

"This is against the policy—"

"You know," a drawl came behind him, cutting Arthur from his hiss, "it would have been much easier to tell me that you prefer him over myself, hm?"

Arthur felt his heart churn in tempo as he glanced over his shoulder quickly. "Eames—"

The Englishman gave him a frown. "It would have saved me trouble from trying to mend us."

Arthur watched, jaw dropped, as Eames moved away to pay for his drink and fries.

"Trying to mend us?" the young teen scowled after regaining his mind. "You did nothing bit push me away!"

Eames didn't even save him a pitied look; he simply ignored him and left.

Arthur was blurred with anger. He ripped his arm away from Lorenzo's grasp and started after Eames.

"Whoa, chill!"

"Arthur, calm down—"

"Calm yo tits, dollface!"

He ignored Lorenzo, Mal, and Kendell all together and tailed Eames out of the restaurant. The immediate second he caught sight of the other walking away, after peering around for a bit, Arthur cleared his throat, then proceeded to call out.

"Eames!"

The Englishman continued walking, obviously still ignoring him, and Arthur was having none of that.

"You're an ass!" the younger of the two announced as he quickened up his pace to catch up to the other. "This is not my fault! Stop ignoring me, you bastard."

The teen reached out and grabbed the Englishman's shirt, stopping him in his tracks.

"My fault? I wasn't the one leading someone on."

"I— you— I'm not a slut! I'm not a whore— or whatever you're thinking. I'm not— I ... I like someone. _One_. Not two."

Eames glowered a bit, a little something quirking up at the corner of his mouth. Arthur couldn't tell if that was a mere twitch of the lips or the beginning of a smile.

"Are you going to surprise me and tell me a name of a person I haven't even met yet?"

He had no idea how Eames could be so dense.

Or maybe Eames knew, he just wanted a confession.

Well, he was getting his wish.

Without a moment's hesitation, Arthur allowed the words to draw out of his mouth. "I like you, alright? These three weeks have been absolute _Hell _without you. I want you, Eames. I don't want— I don't _need _anyone else."

Eames stared at him for a bit before moving his hand up and grabbing Arthur's wrist to remove it from his shirt.

"Are you telling the truth?" he questioned in a mere whisper, some sort of light flooding back into the cold eyes.

Arthur frowned a bit. "Of ... course. Why would I be lying? You're an annoying bastard, but I still ... want you in my life."

A grin broke loose on Eames' face; his lips stretched into a wide smile, a spark of life back in his eyes.

Arthur's heart hammering against his chest was more noticeable now. If he knew it was this easy to admit this, he would have done it earlier, but he didn't regret admitting his feelings now. After all, Eames was smiling at him again, and it felt like nothing else mattered.

"You have no idea how happy I am, darling. I waited so long to hear those words. I waited—"

Arthur raised a hand and slapped him, cutting the words off, but a second later, with a grin settled on his own lips, he cupped Eames' face and pressed their lips together.

— **ox — xo —**

_Father;_

_You may or may not remember who I am, but I'm positive that I left much of an impression for you to not forget. This is your son, Arthur, and this letter is to tell you how my life is now. _

_First and foremost: fuck you. You may be my father, but you have no right to call yourself such after kicking me out and having me struggle to support myself. _

_I'm thankful for my friends, the people that actually care about me. Without them, I wouldn't have survived. After you kicked me out, my step-mother, your wife at the time, handed me two thousand dollars in an envelope and nearly a thousand more a week later. Before you panic, no, it was not your money. It was from her own pocket. It's nice to know that she, who isn't even my biological mother, cares more than the man who raised me my first seventeen years. _

_I was taken in by my friend, Mal Miles. If not for her, Eames and I would be at lost. She was the one who got me a job and a place to stay temporarily. Ariadne Dutch took Eames and me in next. For the rest of the year, I stayed with Ariadne and Eames stayed with Yusuf, a friend of ours. After Christmas, Mal took Eames and me back in and we lived under her roof for a bit. _

_When I turned eighteen, I managed to snag an apartment. Thanks to the money I earned from the job I worked hard on, I kept up with this apartment. School was hard, but I also managed that. I would have graduated as valedictorian, but with the crisis, I fell in ranks. According to the papers, I was ranked number seven in the entire school. _

_But, aside from that, you are probably wondering who this Eames I'm continuously talking about. Remember the man you caught me with before you kicked me out? His name is Eames, and he is my boyfriend. That is not a misprint. And what I'm about to say is not a misprint either: thank you. _

_Because of your crude actions, you drew me closer to Eames. Eventually, you pushed me to a point where I needed him. So when you kicked me out, Eames was my silver lining.* You made me realize that I am capable of falling for someone. I just needed a little push, which my friends gave. _

_I remember the night we became one quite clearly, and I'm going to tell you so that you can suffer. You may very well throw this note away, but I know your curiosity perks you. _

_Back to the subject; the first day at Ariadne's house, when we moved in, I fought vigorously with Eames, but verbally, not physically. After that, Eames left, and I was having to deal with it. Along with the fact that I was kicked out, not having Eames supporting me as I moved through each day was Hell for me. _

_But three weeks later, Mal devised a plan, as she admitted a few days later after Eames and me became a couple. The objective was for me to admit my feelings to Eames. In order to achieve that, she used Lorenzo, the one that you forbade me to see and converse with. Lorenzo was willing to go along with it. And Eames knew of this plan too, so he played along until I finally just broke. That happened a few months back_—_ mid-October, actually. _

_Now, I'm still with Eames, and if you are wondering, yes, I do love him. I can even say that I love him more than you, but that's simply cruel. I'll let you interpret my feelings for you on your own. _

_This letter isn't all about Eames and myself, though. Let's talk about you again, shall we? _

_I remember when mother, my actual mother, and you were together. That was back when I was three. And then she was gone. You never gave me a specific reason why, but I found out a few weeks ago. She's living in Canada, remarried. I assumed that she divorced you because of something you did, or specifically, something you decided. _

_You didn't change, either. You remarried when I was seven, and then, after you kicked me out, she divorced you. _

_You need to learn from your lesson. _

_And if you are married now, I sincerely hope that the woman gives you Hell. My apologies if that sounds harsh._

_Aside from that, I'll have you know that I'm on fair terms. My finance is coming along fairly well, thanks to everyone who pitched in. Even Adrian and Timothy, who didn't fancy me as much, toned down on the teasing, which helped tremendously as I coped throughout each day. _

_To wrap this up, I'm doing well without you. I just thought you would like to be informed of such._

_Sincerely,_

_Arthur Irvings_

_P.S. I don't appreciate you donating my books to the library without my consent, but considering that it's for a helpful cause, I suppose you're forgiven._

_* silver lining is a symbolism of hope among difficulty. _

_Mr. Irvings, thanks for Arthur, but fuck you._

_Have a wonderful life,_

_Eames_

_P.S. And yes, I do love Arthur._

Arthur exhaled as he closed the father's mailbox after putting the letter in.

"Well, that was easy."

He glanced over and grinned at the Englishman. Eames chuckled in response and threaded their fingers together.

"I told you so," he murmured, nosing at the now-graduated student's neck.

Arthur gently pushed him away. "Publicity, Mr. Eames."

The other tossed him a small pout before tugging him down the road in the direction they walked from.

"One day, Arthur, you will succumb to me."

Following along, the dark brunet managed a soft huff. "Not any day in the future."

"Ah, so wounding. Must you grace me with horrible news, darling?"

"Don't be ridiculous."

"Shush, my love." Eames had paused briefly and pressed a finger to Arthur's lips. "Let us walk in peace."

Arthur made a noise of protest, but Eames placed a chaste kiss on his forehead, silencing him.

"I love you, Arthur."

The younger of the two sighed lightly and leaned over to place a peck on the other's cheek.

"Love you too."

Eames' lips curved into a soft smile once more as he took both of Arthur's hands and touched their foreheads together.

"What do you propose we do now?" he whispered.

Arthur peered at the oceanic eyes. "I'm not entirely sure. Perhaps we should get out of the middle of the road?"

"Mm, brilliant idea. But whatever happens, we'll be together."

"The car will hit me first," Arthur retorted.

Eames shushed him twice before kissing him and squeezing his hands. "Don't be a pessimist, love."

"It's not being— I'm just stating—"

"You think too much. Relax. Stand with this moment."

Arthur closed his eyes for a few seconds. "Thank you."

Eames hummed in response.

"I hear a car," Arthur mumbled moments later.

"We should probably move then, mm?"

"Yeah."

— **ox — finished — xo —**


End file.
